



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


















( 

THE STRANGE CASE OF 
ELEANOR CUYLER 

/ t ?/r 

BY 

KINGSLAND CROSBY 


IF//A Frontispiece in colour by 
HARRISON FISHER 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1910 



Copyright, 1910, by 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

Published , September , 1910 





©Cl, A 2 73. 1.4 7 


THE STRANGE CASE OF 
ELEANOR CUYLER 



- 



































■ 




























’ 









































. 












































’ 












* 







































































































































































































« 








* 












































































* 






































I 


It was In the glaring sunlight of a hot mid- 
day in July, at the intersection of Broadway 
and Forty-fifth Street — one of the busiest local- 
ities of all New York — that the crime was 
committed. 

For simplicity, effectiveness, and brazen 
audacity, nothing in the voluminous records 
of the Metropolitan police has ever equalled 
this extraordinary tour de force , which was 
planned, engineered, and carried out with a 
generalship amounting almost to genius. 

If you are permitted to examine the personal 
diary of the greatest secret service operator 
of modern times, you may, perhaps, come upon 
a brief record reading thus: 

Cuyler, Eleanor: white, unmarried; 22 years. 
Medium height, plump rather than slender; hair 
brown and wavy; eyes dark blue, large, full of vital- 
ity; complexion light, creamy, but tanned by sun; 

[I] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

high colour. Dimple in cheek near corner of left eye, 
visible only when speaking or laughing. 

Tailor-made suit of brown linen with white em- 
broidered trimming. Light tan Oxford shoes, wide 
ribbon ties. Golden tan stockings. Long white 
gloves. Picture hat of light straw with bows, etc., 
of brown and white. 

Noticeably erect carriage. No other unusual dis- 
tinction. 

Daughter of Mortimer Cuyler, senior partner 
banking house Cuyler & Co., Wall Street, New 
York, and Lombard Street, London. 

Crime committed between 12, noon, and 1 o’clock, 
July 16. 

Took charge of case July 21 at request from 
White House. 

If this were merely a story it would not mat- 
ter much where we should begin, or end. But as 
it is an effort to unfold for the first time a most 
curious chapter from real life, about which 
society of two continents has talked in asides 
ever since, it is better to proceed chronolog- 
ically, and in an orderly manner, going forward 
step by step, page by page, until the recital 
[2] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Ctiyler 

is concluded. Wherefore we will begin, at 
about 12:15 o’clock, that fatal July noonday, 
when Eleanor Cuyler, and her aunt, Mrs. 
Hazard, were walking slowly through Fifty- 
fifth Street toward Seventh Avenue. They had 
just come from Winthrop’s studio where Elea- 
nor had given a final sitting for her portrait, 
and glad were they that more sittings would 
not be required, now that the usual burst of 
midsummer heat had suddenly taken possession 
of the great city. 

“ As I was saying,” Mrs. Hazard remarked, 
trying to keep within the belt of shadow cast 
by the monotonous row of dwellings flanking 
the sidewalk, “ as I was saying, all I have to 
do is to go uptown, take a rapid glance through 
the house, and then meet you at the ferry in 
time for the two-thirty train.” 

“ Does Hawkins know you’re coming to the 
house?” Eleanor inquired, tilting her white 
parasol a bit further. 

“Yes, I telephoned her, so she’ll probably 
have luncheon ready for me.” 

“ Tm not hungry — if I am I can stop in 

somewhere on Twenty-third Street . My! 

IS] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

I’m glad that old portrait is done, so far as I 
am concerned.” 

Mrs. Hazard smiled indulgently. 

44 Mark my words,” she said in rejoinder, 
“that is a finer portrait than you think. Shel- 
don Winthrop is going to win, as a painter, 
and I’m not sure but your picture will help 
him a long step toward success.” 

“Oh, he’s a nice boy!” Eleanor assented, 
with an impatient little flirt of her parasol, 
“ but he’s some distance yet from the 4 R. A.* 
hall-mark.” 

By this time the two ladies had reached the 
corner of Seventh Avenue. A surface-car, 
bound downtown, clanged and whirred toward 
them. 

“If you hurry a little you can catch it,” Mrs. 
Hazard suggested. “ Don’t forget — the two- 
thirty boat ! ” 

“If I’m not there,” the girl called over her 
shoulder, 44 don’t wait for me — I may take a 
notion to run out and spend the night with 
Sallie ! ” 

44 All right ! ” Mrs. Hazard replied. 

She stood still for a moment watching her 

[ 4 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

niece step aboard the car, and waved her a lit- 
tle farewell as she entered the huge, yellow 
vehicle, which lunged forward on its way down 
town. 

At that moment — in broad daylight, from 
one of the busiest spots of all New York — 
Eleanor Cuyler, daughter of a noted financier, 
herself well known and beloved by society, van- 
ished as completely as if she had been carried 
from earth to sky by supernatural agency. 


[ 5 ] 


II 


The foregoing events, which we have endeav- 
oured to record with complete exactness, hap- 
pened on Monday, July 1 6. Eleanor’s father 
had spent the preceding Saturday and Sunday 
at his summer place, according to his usual cus- 
tom, which was well known; as was also the 
further fact that this year he was spending the 
rest of the week in town, working all day at 
his office, and sitting up late at night with rail- 
road presidents, and so-called “ coal barons,” 
and labour-leaders, in an effort to prevent a 
threatened strike of anthracite miners which 
would seriously affect the November elections. 

Ever since the death of Cuyler’s wife, years 
previous, his sister, Mrs. Hazard, had presided 
over his several homes, and had tried as best 
she might to be a mother to his motherless 
only child. Under her love and care and sym- 
pathetic oversight, the child had grown to be 
a charming, accomplished young woman, who 
had seen the best of smart society here and 
[ 6 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

abroad, who had explored the Yosemite, 
coached through Norway, fished and hunted in 
Canadian wilds, and had managed to escape the 
idea that she had a u mission ” in life. Once, 
when home for a vacation in her Junior year, 
she told her father that she sometimes thought 
she ought to devote her time and talents and 
fortune to working among the very poor in an 
East Side settlement; and old Mortimer Cuyler 
came mightily near taking her out of college 
on the moment. But he didn’t — he recognised 
in this desire a germ of modern collegiate ex- 
istence which attacks almost every sympathetic 
girl student. 

“ Your mission in life, my dear,” he said, 
when he had swallowed a lump of instant 
wrath, “ is simply to live, and be joyous and 
happy. Five years from now, if you want to, 
you can speak to me again about a home-mis- 
sionary career. . . . Not before then.” 

Eleanor had subsided. Only two or three 
of the five years had passed, but the germ had 
died. And she had lived, at home and abroad, 
happy, light-hearted, always welcomed every- 
where, and so great a favourite that she was as 
[ 7 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

much in demand for week-end visits as if she 
were an eligible bachelor. She went away so 
often for a few days that Mrs. Hazard 
thought nothing of it when the girl failed to 
meet her at the ferry. 

“ She has decided to go up the Hudson and 
visit Sallie, after all,” she said to herself, 
knowing that a telephone to the town house 
would bring a maid and sufficient clothing to 
Eleanor wherever she might be. 

The railroad journey across Long Island 
was as hot and dusty and uncomfortable as it 
always is in summer, and right glad was Mrs. 
Hazard to leave the train and step into a wait- 
ing carriage, which rapidly spun over three 
miles or so to the cool, shady entrance of her 
brother’s place. 

At four o’clock she telephoned Cuyler’s 
office to ascertain whether by any chance he 
were coming out to dine and spend the night. 
Young Johnson, Cuyler’s secretary, at the other 
end of the wire, replied in the negative: Mr. 
Cuyler was spending the night on board his 
yacht, Norseman , cruising in the Sound. Three 
or four other gentlemen were to be with him in 
[ 8 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

an important conference, for which reason 
Mrs. Hazard would please regard the matter 
as extremely confidential. 

Few financiers of prominence would trust the 
women of their families with such information. 
Cuyler, however, knew and appreciated his 
sister’s calibre of discretion. 

Mrs. Hazard rang off, and sat down in a 
cool corner of the great veranda, with a half- 
sigh. It was all wrong, she felt, rather than 
thought connectedly. If Mortimer had only 
been content to stay up in the little New Eng- 
land town where they were born and where he 
had lived until out of college, he would have 
been a much happier man — and perhaps a more 
useful man. He never would have succeeded 
his father as principal of the Academy, but if 
his energies had only been divided between 
home-making, and business, and local improve- 
ments, it would have been much better. They 
would have enjoyed a quiet, serene, compan- 
ionable life, and he would now be willing to 
retire, with an income of a few thousands. 
Eleanor would be happily married to some 
industrious, substantial young man, and would 
[91 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

be making a home of her own; whereas — Mrs. 
Hazard’s eye caught headlines of heavy type 
in a newspaper on the table. She picked up 
the sheet and read two articles side by side 
about her brother. One told how he had just 
sent a check for three millions to found an 
institution for bacteriological research, the 
other — occupying half a page — was devoted to 
Cuyler’s work of the moment in trying to bring 
“ coal barons ” and labour leaders together so 
as to avoid a strike which might impoverish 
tens of thousands of people, and bring suffering 
to hundreds of thousands more during the next 
winter. 

Like a sensible woman Mrs. Hazard put 
down the newspaper, ceased the impossible 
task of trying to fathom the incomprehensible 
laws of nature, which single out some men for 
incessant herculean work, and went to her room 
to rest until it should be time to dress for 
dinner. 

That evening passed, and Tuesday, and 
Tuesday night, with no word from Eleanor. 
This in itself was not strange, but the hot 
weather, and the thought of that possible other 
[ 10 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

life in a quiet Vermont village, made her nerv- 
ous. So quite early on Wednesday she tele- 
phoned Sallie Hamilton, over on the Hudson, 
and learned that Eleanor had not been there 
for a month. 

The news shocked her momentarily. Then 
she decided that Eleanor was making a visit 
elsewhere, and rang up Cuyler’s town house 
to ascertain whether the girl had sent for a 
maid and an outfit sufficient to last for a few 
days. 

Hawkins, the housekeeper, replied that no 
word had been received from Miss Cuyler; 
and then it was that Mrs. Hazard called for 
her brother’s office. 

In five minutes she had Mortimer Cuyler on 
the wire, and told him that she could get no 
word of Eleanor. 

In five minutes more he had given her ex- 
plicit instructions to ring up, one after the 
other, every friend Eleanor had, whom she 
might possibly visit, on the New Jersey coast, 
along the Hudson, and in Westchester County, 
adding finally that Mrs. Hazard was to tele- 
phone him again as soon as this was done. 

[u] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Then Cuyler spoke rapidly to Johnson, and 
the secretary hurriedly left the banking house 
on an errand that took him to every police 
station and hospital in the great, sullen, cruel 
city — and finally to the Morgue. 


[12] 


Ill 


The express which had pulled out of Jersey 
City at midnight slowly panted its way into the 
dingy station at Washington, Saturday morn- 
ing, and came to a stop more than an hour 
late. The first person to leave the train was 
a tall, broad-shouldered, thickset man, some- 
what past middle age, who swung from the 
forward steps of the first Pullman before the 
wheels had fairly ceased moving, and made 
his way through the train-shed with long, rapid 
strides. 

His whole being was the personification of 
power, decision, force — mental as well as phy- 
sical. He stepped lightly, but each footstep 
seemed a command. One hand, bronzed and 
shaded by dark hairs, gripped a small satchel; 
the other carried a tightly rolled umbrella. 
Shoes of light tan, grey trousers and sack-coat, 
white pique waistcoat, dark blue four-in-hand 
tie bearing a stickpin with a single pearl, were 
features of his costume. A straw hat with 
[Hi 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

generous brim was pulled slightly forward, 
shielding from the glare of the hot July morn- 
ing a pair of grey eyes; wonderful eyes, deep- 
set, piercing, gleaming, unyielding, before 
which men quailed, and hesitated, and became 
silent. Usually steady, direct, uncompromis- 
ing, those eyes to-day were restless, anxious — 
as well they might be ; for Mortimer Cuyler 
had passed three sleepless nights, and practically 
two days of ceaseless apprehension. 

As he strode into the station and through it 
toward the street, those whom he met (the few 
passengers, the usual riff-raff of negro hangers- 
on, and the railway employees), instinctively 
fell back, making way for him. A minute later 
he stepped into a ramshackle cab and spoke 
two words. 

“ Beecham, quick!” 

The driver sprang to his perch, seized the 
reins, and the whip whistled through the air 
as his astonished horse whirled around and 
started off. Into Pennsylvania Avenue the cab 
turned, and dashed over its smooth, hot as- 
phalt, passing cable-cars jammed with Govern- 
ment clerks on their way to work, swaying to 

[14] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

avoid running down careless, easy-going pedes- 
trians, barely skimming the bicycles of mes- 
senger boys, avoiding collision with wagons by 
a hair’s breadth. Around another corner to the 
right, up a steep incline, another turn to the 
left, and the panting, sweating horse was pulled 
back on his haunches before the hotel. 

It was the slowest month of the slowest sea- 
son in the year. Official Washington, diplo- 
matic Washington, social Washington, had 
shut up shop weeks previous, and had fled to 
the Adirondacks, to Maine, to Newport, to 
the Great Lakes, to Europe — anywhere to es- 
cape the enervating, life-sapping heat of the 
National Capital. The President alone had 
remained longer than usual, conscientiously in- 
sistent upon disposing of laborious details con- 
nected with the executive office. Consequently 
the hotel corridors were empty, and before the 
momentary commotion made by the cab’s ar- 
rival had subsided a porter and a bellboy were 
hurrying down the steps. Cuyler tossed his 
cabman half-a-dollar, let go of his satchel and 
umbrella — which were caught respectively by 
the porter and the bellboy before they touched 
[i5] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the pavement — and entered the dim, cool, airy 
corridor. 

The room-clerk on duty in the office recog- 
nised him before he was fairly off the street, 
and spoke to the manager, who quickly stepped 
around in front to meet and greet this distin- 
guished patron. The clerk forbore to get pen 
and ink ready for use. Cuyler seldom regis- 
tered. The manager, smiling cordially, began 
a welcome, but was cut short. 

“Any message for me?” the banker de- 
manded. 

“ Yes, sir — a long-distance telephone. Here 
it is, I took it off the wire myself. From your 
office at eight-thirty this morning, sent by 
Johnson — your secretary, isn’t he? 

Cuyler did not take the trouble to reply. 
He grasped the bit of paper from the hotel 
man’s fingers and silently read the message 
thereon: “Not a clue as yet. Johnson.” 

“Anything else?” 

“ No, sir — nothing.” 

“ I’ll go to my room,” said Cuyler, stepping 
toward the elevator. Then without pausing, 
he added, “ Have breakfast ready in twenty- 

[i6] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

five minutes — cantaloupe, poached eggs, cof- 
fee, hot corn-bread . . * And all the New 
York papers,” he concluded, as the car shot 
up the shaft. 

“ Very good, sir,” the hotel man replied, 
his voice floating up after the car. 

Mortimer Cuyler, refreshed by a quick 
shower, came down again on the minute and 
walked into the cafe below the street level. His 
breakfast was ready. Two men had been de- 
tailed to look after his wants, known, un- 
known; probable, possible, impossible. The 
cantaloupe, ice-cold and faintly fragrant, lay 
before him. Out in the kitchens a chef was 
poaching eggs every three minutes, so that when 
called for, two of them would be exactly ready 
for serving — not overcooked by so much as a 
second. One serving-man stood a yard from 
the banker’s shoulder; the other as far distant 
in a different direction. Neither looked at him 
or at each other ; but their nerves were strained 
to anticipate his every wish. 

The newly-arrived guest tasted of the melon, 
then picked up the New York morning news- 
papers which lay close by and rapidly scanned 
1 l 7 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the headlines, discarding one after another as 
he failed to find that for which he was looking. 
He had just finished close study of the Herald’s 
“ Personal ” column when a bellboy trotted 
down from the office and into the cafe, fol- 
lowed leisurely by a dignified, elderly man — 
white hair and moustache, linen suit, low shoes 
— who carried a sealed envelope in one hand, 
his straw hat in the other. 

“ Mr. Cuyler, sir? ” the bellboy inquired, with 
deep respect, and as the banker looked up 
he added, “ A White House Messenger, 
sir.” 

Cuyler took the envelope and drew from it 
a sheet of paper bearing the simple blue letter- 
ing of White House stationery. The note had 
been written but a few minutes previous, and 
read as follows: 

Dear Mr. Cuyler: 

The President duly received your telegram of last 
evening, saying you would arrive in Washington 
early to-day. The President directs me to say that he 
would be very glad indeed to see you in the Execu- 
tive Mansion, and suggests that you call before eleven 

[18] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ler mounted the steps leading to the floor 
whereon were situated the Executive offices and 
the living-rooms of the President’s family. 

At the head of the stairway stood the Presi- 
dent’s doorkeeper, guarding the entrance to the 
Cabinet-room, and he saluted the financier, 
recognising him at a glance. 

“ Would you be so kind as to step into the 
secretary’s office ? ” the doorkeeper said. “ The 
President is engaged just now.” 

“ Certainly,” Cuyler replied, mounting two 
steps to the left, and passing along a corridor. 
On one side of the passageway were rooms 
filled with clerks and accountants; on the other 
the large, square office of the President’s sec- 
retary, and beyond this the narrow, noisy, busy 
telegraph-room. 

When the banker stepped into the office of 
Mr. Alberts he found half a dozen men, and 
a few women there ahead of him, all hoping 
to have an interview with the President; some 
had definite reason for seeing the Chief Ex- 
ecutive, but the majority were merely “ hand- 
shakers.” One man, who looked like an up- 
State political leader, was standing close to the 
[21 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

President’s secretary, in the centre of the room, 
talking in low, earnest tones. The other visi- 
tors were seated here and there; and all ap- 
peared to be interested as Alberts quickly 
stepped forward to greet the new arrival; for 
they recognised the banker’s shoulders, and 
heavy jaws, and those piercing eyes. 

“ Can you wait a few moments, Mr. Cuy- 
ler?” the secretary inquired. “The President 
is engaged, but I will tell him you are here.” 

“ Certainly — kindly request him not to put 
anything aside. I would prefer to wait, as my 
call may take half an hour.” 

“ Very good, sir,” Alberts responded, turn- 
ing and walking through another door at the 
end of his office. 

Two men were chatting in undertone by a 
window as Cuyler sat down, and a veteran of 
the Civil War, with one leg gone, nudged the 
white-haired little woman by his side, as they, 
too, saw who the newcomer was. The pros- 
perous-looking men by the window exchanged 
swift glances — each noted instantly Cuyler’s 
haggard face — and their minds flew to Wall 
Street. 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

What was going to happen? 

What had brought to the White House, in 
the hottest weather of the year, one of the 
great bankers of the world? 

Could it be possible that another issue of 
Government bonds was imminent? There had 
been hints of such a contingency, and Cuyler 
was the one man in the country to whom the 
President would turn in an emergency of the 
kind. Or were American investments in some 
out-of-the-way corner of the world suddenly 
imperilled? Surely something was up — some- 
thing serious, judging from the circles under 
Cuyler’s eyes, and the deep lines about his 
mouth. 

A door near one corner of the room was sud- 
denly opened, and a well-known Representa- 
tive came out, closely followed by the President, 
who bowed to those present, and extended his 
hand to the latest arrival, saying: 

“ Mr. Cuyler — good morning. Pm glad to 
see you ” 

The door closed again as he and the banker 
disappeared in the Cabinet-room, which the 
President then used as his office. This morning, 

[23] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

however, the Nation’s Chief Executive did not 
pause there, but led the way into the circular 
library, just beyond, where he and his visitor 
seated themselves. 

“ I’m glad to see you I ” the President re- 
peated cordially. 

“ I’m glad to be here, Mr. President,” said 
Cuyler. “ I want your help in an impor- 
tant matter — in a most important matter.” 

The President always was dignified, and now 
he became grave, serious. His eyes did not 
lose their habitual calm, but sprang alight with 
eagerness to assist a political supporter, an old 
personal friend. 

“ For years, Mr. Cuyler,” he said earnestly, 
“ you have been a bulwark of strength to me, 
an unfailing inspiration — a practical believer in 
our people and in our country. Everything I 
have, all I can command,” he added gently, 
“is at your service.” 

After a moment’s silence the other looked up 
from the paper-knife his fingers had been nerv- 
ously balancing. 

“ I have had more blows in the face than 
the world will ever guess, Mr. President. But 

[24] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

this time it is a stab to the very heart. . . . 

Eleanor disappeared on Monday, and I can get 
no trace of her.” 

“Your daughter!” the President ejaculated, 
leaning forward on the desk. 

The other bowed. “ She disappeared Mon- 
day, about noon. This is Saturday. She has 
vanished — blotted out as if she had never been.” 

The President turned slightly and glanced 
through the window. He could not bear to 
see those anxious eyes, and the suggestion of 
trembling about that masterful chin. 

u What has been done? What can be done? 
What do you suspect?” he said. 

“ You don’t mind my walking around a 
bit?” Cuyler inquired, half rising from his 
chair. “ I had a tiresome journey down 
here ” 

“By all means stroll around! A frequent 
habit of my own. Often, when feeling a little 
cramped, I pace up and down here — it’s not a 
bad idea.” 

“To reply to your question, Mr. President, 
my daughter, accompanied by her aunt, Mrs. 
Hazard, went to the studio of a painter named 

[25] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

however, the Nation’s Chief Executive did not 
pause there, but led the way into the circular 
library, just beyond, where he and his visitor 
seated themselves. 

“ I’m glad to see you ! ” the President re- 
peated cordially. 

“ I’m glad to be here, Mr. President,” said 
Cuyler. “ I want your help in an impor- 
tant matter — in a most important matter.” 

The President always was dignified, and now 
he became grave, serious. His eyes did not 
lose their habitual calm, but sprang alight with 
eagerness to assist a political supporter, an old 
personal friend. 

“ For years, Mr. Cuyler,” he said earnestly, 
“ you have been a bulwark of strength to me, 
an unfailing inspiration — a practical believer in 
our people and in our country. Everything I 
have, all I can command,” he added gently, 
“is at your service.” 

After a moment’s silence the other looked up 
from the paper-knife his fingers had been nerv- 
ously balancing. 

“ I have had more blows in the face than 
the world will ever guess, Mr. President. But 

[24] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

this time it is a stab to the very heart. . . . 

Eleanor disappeared on Monday, and I can get 
no trace of her.” 

“Your daughter 1” the President ejaculated, 
leaning forward on the desk. 

The other bowed. “ She disappeared Mon- 
day, about noon. This is Saturday. She has 
vanished — blotted out as if she had never been.” 

The President turned slightly and glanced 
through the window. He could not bear to 
see those anxious eyes, and the suggestion of 
trembling about that masterful chin. 

“ What has been done? What cm be done? 
What do you suspect?” he said. 

“ You don’t mind my walking around a 
bit?” Cuyler inquired, half rising from his 
chair. “ I had a tiresome journey down 
here ” 

“By all means stroll around! A frequent 
habit of my own. Often, when feeling a little 
cramped, I pace up and down here — it’s not a 
bad idea.” 

“ To reply to your question, Mr. President, 
my daughter, accompanied by her aunt, Mrs. 
Hazard, went to the studio of a painter named 

[25] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Winthrop, Monday morning, to give him a 
final sitting for her portrait. The studio is in 
Fifty-fifth Street near Seventh Avenue. Mrs. 
Hazard, you know, has chaperoned Eleanor 
since my wife died.” 

The President bowed gravely, and the banker 
went on: “ They left the studio shortly before 
noon, and Mrs. Hazard started for my town 
house to do an errand, after agreeing to meet 
Eleanor at the Long Island ferry in time for 
the two-thirty train. Eleanor boarded a surface 
car to do some shopping in Twenty-third Street. 
As she did so Mrs. Hazard waved her 
good-bye, and she returned the salute.” 

Cuyler paused in his walk, and for a moment 
gazed absently at the great globe of the world, 
which stood to the right of the President’s 
desk, in front of a case of reference-books, and 
near the door leading into the Cabinet-room. 

“ Since that moment,” the father continued 
with an effort, “ I can get no trace of her. 
. . . If you should ask me, sir, to point 
out on this globe the spot where my only child 
is now living, if indeed she be alive, I could 
not tell you.” 


[26] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

The sinking of the banker’s voice to a husky 
whisper acted as a sudden stimulant to action; 
as a bugle-call to the great, sympathetic heart 
across the room which had longed so deeply, 
so many years, for a child of its own to father, 
and love, and rejoice in. 

The President rose from his chair, quiet as 
ever, calm, reserved, but tingling in every fibre 
of his being. 44 Mr. Cuyler,” he said, his low 
voice fairly ringing with decision, 44 we will 
find your daughter! You may rest assured of 
that. Unless some accident has unhappily be- 
fallen, she will be restored to you alive and 
well.” 

“There has been no accident, sir. When 
she failed to meet Mrs. Hazard at the ferry it 
was supposed she would go to my country place 
by a later train. I spent Monday night and 
Tuesday night in town. Wednesday morning 
Mrs. Hazard telephoned me of Eleanor’s non- 
appearance. I requested her to telephone sev- 
eral friends in New Jersey, and up the Hudson 
and in Westchester County, thinking possibly 
the girl had suddenly changed her plans and 
forgot to tell her aunt. This Mrs. Hazard 

[27] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

did, and notified me late Wednesday afternoon 
of her failure to get a trace of Eleanor.” 

“ And then? ” the President asked. 

“ Then I sent Johnson, my secretary, to all 
the hospitals looking after a mythical stenog- 
rapher of my daughter’s appearance. Johnson, 
of course, did not give his real name, or use 
mine.” 

“ Did you notify the police, or call on a pri- 
vate detective agency?” 

Cuyler shook his head. 

“ It would get into the newspapers at 
once,” he said, “ and that would be simply aw- 
ful. Our lives, our home, our friends, our 
clothes, would be discussed and lied about; all 
sorts of innuendos would be thrown out with 
devilish cunning — that I had driven her from 
home, that she might be a victim of alcohol or 
cocaine — you know, Mr. President, you know,” 
he concluded, scarcely trying to conceal a sigh 
of despair. 

“ Yes, I know — I know,” the President as- 
sented soberly, nodding his head. 

“ Therefore, sir,” the financier continued, in 
tones of impressive gravity, “ I have come to 
[28] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

you at last to make a personal request. It Is 
the first time I have ever asked a favour from 
an occupant of the exalted office you hold. I 
never would think of asking it but in this par- 
ticular crisis. . r.- . To recover my daugh- 

ter, Mr. President, I would kneel to the very 
beggar in the street.” 

The Chief Executive made no response. 
None was needed. He waited in silence; mo- 
tionless, except for the increasing light of hope- 
fulness, courage, affection, in his beautiful eyes. 

“ I cannot call on the police, or on private 
detectives,” Cuyler repeated, “ but you can give 
me, by a single word, the far-reaching power of 
another organisation of the kind; a body of 
men who have no equals, and who are to be 
trusted absolutely. ,. . :. I ask, Mr. Presi- 

dent, the aid of the Federal Secret Service.” 

The quiet, self-contained man sitting oppo- 
site the great financier lowered his eyes in 
thought. 

“There are difficulties in the way,” he said, 
after a moment of silent consideration, “ but 
they may be avoided. Of course the Secret 
Service is concerned only with Government mat- 

[29] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ters, as you know. Yet, if it could serve you 
without interrupting present operations, I would 
feel wholly justified in placing the Service at 
your disposal. This would be little enough in 
return for all you have done for our people, 
and for their Government, these twenty years 
past, Mr. Cuyler. The world does not dream, 
sir, the world will never know, perhaps, what 
you have done to uphold the financial integrity 
of this country, to strengthen the arms of one 
Administration after another.” 

“ Please speak no more of that,” Cuyler in- 
terrupted, moving uncomfortably in his chair. 
“ I have simply tried to do my duty as a citizen 
— that is all. However,” he added with de- 
cision, “ if you can give me the assistance re- 
quested, I can, perhaps, execute a plan which 
I have definitely marked out.” 

“ You may rest assured that your wishes will 
be gladly met! ” the President exclaimed. “ It 
so happens that we have here in Washington, 
or very close to the city, the man whom I con- 
sider to be the most remarkable detective living 
■ — certainly the most remarkable detective living 
in this country. He is not a regular member of 
[ 30 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the Secret Service, but through a proper finan- 
cial arrangement the Government has the right 
to call on him for special work of a peculiarly 
difficult character. He is in reality the Chief 
Consulting Officer of the Service. 

“ Just at present this man, Wotsirb, is not 
engaged on any Government matter. Under 
these circumstances he is wholly at liberty to do 
work for other people — but he very seldom can 
be induced to take up private cases. He pre- 
fers to work for the Government alone. I sug- 
gest that you communicate with Wotsirb, put 
your case in his hands, and let him go ahead 
exactly as he chooses. . . . Do this, and 

your daughter will be found.” 

“ I’ll follow your advice implicitly, Mr. Pres- 
ident. And I thank you again ! ” 

Cuyler rose from the chair and held out his 
hand. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” exclaimed the other, open- 
ing a secret drawer cunningly contrived at the 
edge of his desk. He took from the; drawer a 
small box, and handed it to his visitor, who 
saw therein a leaden object — flattened, mis- 
shapen, but unquestionably a bullet. 

[3i] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ That,” the President quietly remarked, 
“ was fired at me two years ago. It crashed 
through the window, there, missed my head by 
a few inches, and buried itself in the wall yon- 
der, near the ceiling. This man, Wotsirb, was 
on the case in fifteen minutes, and by midnight 
had got trace of the poor demented creature 
who fired the shot. He was thrown off the 
trail for several days — our Secret Service then 
was far behind European standards — but re- 
gained it, and followed the unfortunate across 
the Canadian Arctic, over mountain ranges and 
rivers of Alaska, chased him in a war-canoe 
across Bering Strait, on foot and on horseback 
through Siberia and China, and finally overtook 
him in Tibet, where native guards had just 
killed him as he was trying to enter the For- 
bidden City. 

“ Wotsirb was an hour late — but he brought 
back to me a snapshot photograph of the dead 
face, as proof of his work.” 

Moment by moment, during this recital, Cuy- 
ler had been growing more and more agitated; 
and as it was concluded he exclaimed in a whis- 
per: 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Good God, Mr. President ! The country 
never has heard a word of this ! ” 

“No — and the country mustn y t hear of it. 

. . . I have told you in the absolute confi- 

dence investing all disclosure made in the Ex- 
ecutive office, so that you may understand what 
this man Wotsirb is, and what he has done.” 

The President pressed a button on his desk. 
His secretary appeared almost instantly. 

“ Alberts, kindly get word out to Wotsirb at 
once that Mr. Cuyler has an important private 
matter needing immediate attention. Tell him', 
furthermore, it is my special and earnest request 
that he serve Mr. Cuyler’s interests as he would 
serve mine in an emergency. Inform Mr. Cuy- 
ler at his hotel, without delay, what Wotsirb’s 
reply is.” 

Alberts waited, expectant, but the President 
nodded dismissal, and he left the room, the 
banker following a moment later. 

“ Where can I telephone you, say in quar- 
ter of an hour, Mr. Cuyler?” the secretary 
asked. 

“ At the Beecham.” 

All right, sir. If Wotsirb is at home — he 
[33l 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

lives in the suburbs — you will hear from me by 
that time.” 

The secretary went back to his office and the 
banker stepped out upon the hot, steaming 
pavement. 


[ 34 ] 


IV, 


He had scarcely reached his apartment on the 
fourth floor of his hotel when the telephone 
therein buzzed, and over it Alberts told him 
that the person they had spoken about would 
call at two-thirty. It was then after eleven, 
and Cuyler called up his New York office to 
talk with Johnson. 

This confidential man, long in his employ, 
and something more than the usual private sec- 
retary, replied that there was no news. He had 
visited twenty public institutions without givjng 
his name, to inquire after a hypothetical stenog- 
rapher who was missing from her home, and 
that afternoon was to extend his search to Jer- 
sey City, Newark, and Hoboken. 

The financier listened with the intentness 
habitual to him, and, at the close of Johnson’s 
report, briefly gave his orders. 

“ Keep on the same line until eight o’clock. 
Meet me in Jersey City on arrival of the Con- 
gressional Limited this evening.” 

[ 35 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

He rang off, and sank into a great willow 
chair to rest for a few moments — the strain 
was beginning to tell on him. In half an hour 
he would call up his office again, talk with one 
of his junior partners about any important busi- 
ness matter that might have arisen, and he pre- 
pared to go over the situation regarding 
Eleanor with Wotsirb when the detective should 
appear. 

Suddenly Cuyler bethought himself of food 
• — he felt faint, and at first attributed this un- 
usual condition to heat, fatigue, anxiety. Then 
he remembered that he had eaten no breakfast 
that morning, and had barely swallowed a 
mouthful of dinner at his club the evening 
previous. As a rule he ate nothing in the mid- 
dle of the day, so he had fasted for more than 
twenty-six hours. He arose and started for the 
telephone to order luncheon sent to his apart- 
ment when again the buzzer rang, insistently, 
and the operator said: 

“Mr. Cuyler? One minute, please — New 
York wants you on the Long Distance.” 

The crackle of electric currents momentarily 
irritated the banker’s ear, and then he recog- 
[ 36 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

nised the voice of his right-hand man in his 
banking house. 

“ That you, Mr. Cuyler? Yes, this is Blood- 
good. After fairly strong opening the market 
suddenly sagged, and took a sharp downward 
turn on vague, indefinite rumours that you had 
suffered a sunstroke and that the news was be- 
ing concealed. At once a sharp, determined 
attack commenced all along the line. Almost 
everything went off five and six points, and it 
is getting worse. Seems to be a concerted, well- 
planned raid from some source — probably for- 
eign, I think. 

“ The office is full of reporters, extra editions 
of the evening papers are out, and the Street 
is highly excited. 

“ What are your instructions? ” 

Cuyler glanced at his watch. Then he spoke 
clearly, decisively, briefly, as a general would, 
knowing his strength, in a sudden engagement. 
For the moment everything else was forgotten, 
thrown instantly out of his mind — even Eleanor 
and the reason for his presence in a distant 
city. 

“ Send out strong supporting orders — you 
[ 37 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

have forty minutes left before the market closes 
at noon. Pile them in. Give out an authorita- 
tive definite statement that I am away from 
town only for the day, that I have telephoned 
you this personally. If the situation demands 
it, add that I am in excellent health, that the 
opposition is evidently trying to take advantage 
of my temporary absence to create a scare and 
that the whole thing looks like a regular hap- 
pening of the * silly season.’ Tell the news- 
paper men I will be at the Metropolis Club at 
about nine-thirty to-night, and can see them if 
they wish to call there. . . . Anything fur- 

ther? ” 

“ Nothing, sir,” said Bloodgood. “ Good- 
bye.” 

The banker hung up his telephone receiver, 
and again sat down, but this time he did not 
sink back wearily in an easy chair. Instead, 
he sat upright before a small table and gazed 
at its polished surface while rapidly canvassing 
the situation in Wall Street. 

What a pack of hungry hounds they were, 
that opposition! Most of them rich enough 
already, and yet seizing upon his absence of a 
[ 38 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

single day — and Saturday at that ! — in order to 
knock down stocks in which they had absolutely 
no interest; securities owned and paid for by 
two hundred thousand men, and half that num- 
ber of women, all over the world (but princi- 
pally in this country), who had invested their 
hard-earned savings in shares and bonds of 
scores of railroads, mines, manufacturing con- 
cerns, because he, Cuyler, was acting as financial 
trustee, backer, sponsor, for these great enter- 
prises; and because that army of small investors 
had learned through his long lifetime that he 
never had misused and never would misuse such 
a trust, would never stoop to juggle securities 
for his own aggrandisement, and that his judg- 
ment of actual values was so clear, so sound, as 
to be well-nigh infallible. 

“Bah!” Cuyler ejaculated, bringing down 
one great, hairy fist upon the shimmering, 
trembling table before him. “ To think I have 
to spend time and thought fighting those 
curs ! ” 

And he wished, for the thousandth time, that 
he could retire from active business, relieve 
himself of its cares and worries, throw off the 
[ 39 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

killing anxieties that weighted down his every 
waking moment, and be for the short rest of 
his a life a free man — free in the sense of that 
street sweeper down there below his windows, 
who worked eight hours steadily and then 
could go home to wife and little ones for a long 
evening of happiness, and a night of sound, 
refreshing sleep. 

“ But I cannot,” said Cuyler to himself, 
wearily pacing the floor. 

There were too many people dependent upon 
him — aged men and women, a host of invalids, 
countless widows and helpless children, whose 
little all was in his trust. If he stopped work 
now his enemies and rivals would do almost 
anything to wrest control of those varied in- 
terests from his junior partners. These were 
good business men; keen, active, of undaunted 
courage, and having trained each one of them 
in his own office, Cuyler felt sure that in the 
end they would win such an inevitable struggle, 
should he step down and out; but meantime, 
perhaps for several years, the value of railway 
and other securities allied with his name would 
be hammered, their earning power would de- 
[ 40 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cline, and thousands of innocent investors 
would be pinched because of lessened dividends. 
• . . No, he must keep in the treadmill un- 

til he died at his desk. That is the way such 
men do die ; and he knew it. . . . He wished, 
though, that he could take a vacation for a 
month, or ev£n for two weeks, like his under 
clerks and stenographers and office boys. Or- 
dinarily it could be done — but with that anthra- 
cite strike threatening, with labour leaders, and 
mine workers, and operators so defiant, so de- 
termined not to yield an inch in their great 
struggle, a vacation was simply out of question. 
He held the balance of power, for it was his 
house which furnished sinews of war whereby 
the mines could be operated successfully. Back 
of mine superintendent, operator, lessee, owner, 
stood Cuyler, financier. r .- . ... No, a vaca- 

tion was impossible. In the late autumn or 
early winter, perhaps, but not now. 

Disheartened, discouraged, exhausted, he 
threw himself upon a couch and fell into deep 
slumber. A bellboy knocking on the door in- 
terrupted the nap. Could Mr. Cuyler see a 
gentleman — a person, that is, the bellboy added 
[4i ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

thoughtfully — who had an appointment at two- 
thirty? 

Mr. Cuyler could and would see him, and 
waited with considerable curiosity, while the 
servant went after the visitor, who appeared 
shortly, entered the room, closed the door, 
nodded carelessly to Cuyler, and sat down with- 
out saying a word. 

Cuyler looked him over with one swift glance 
— a small, slender man, almost frail; complex- 
ion pink and white as a girl’s; large blue eyes, 
quiet, devoid of vivacity; hair, moustache, 
beard, yellowish brown. 

“May I ask who you are?” the banker 
finally inquired. “ You forgot, doubtless, to 
send me your card.” 

“ My name is Bristow.” 

“ Bristow?” 

“ Yes — that is my real name. My profes- 
sional name is Bristow spelled backward.” 

“ I see,” said Cuyler. 

“ I asked Alberts for this note of introduc- 
tion,” the detective added, handing the other 
an envelope, the contents of which were quickly 
scanned. 

[ 42 ], 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ First of all, Mr. Cuyler, how long are you 
to be in Washington?” 

“ We have about an hour for this conference. 
I leave on the Congressional Limited.” 

“ It’s a short time,” Wotsirb commented. 
“ If we can’t get through by then I’ll go along 
to New York with you. Now fire ahead please, 
and pay no attention to me. I’ll absorb every 
word you say. It’s my habit, temperament — 
method of work, I mean.” 

Cuyler winced. He was not accustomed to 
take orders from anyone, especially from an 
employee. 

Then he remembered what the President had 
said about Wotsirb, and decided to regard him 
as he would regard counsel in an important 
legal contest — as a specialist whose advice must 
be followed. And having arrived at this sen- 
sible mental attitude, he told the detective all 
that he himself knew, and all that Mrs. Hazard 
knew, about Eleanor’s disappearance. The 
girl had entered a car at Seventh Avenue and 
Fifty-fifth Street, at noon the previous Monday. 
That was the last seen or heard of her. Cuyler 
also told what steps he had taken, through 
[ 43 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Johnson, to find her, and why he had appealed 
to the President for assistance. Keen, careful, 
logical, he went forward step by step, omitting 
nothing; for he knew that the slightest detail 
might be of first importance, perhaps, in solv- 
ing the mystery. Every last bit is necessary to 
a complete structure, especially if it is complex, 
and Cuyler had planned and carried out too 
many great enterprises to be unmindful of this 
fact. 

As the banker talked on and on without a 
break he watched his visitor closely, and won- 
dered what manner of man he was, down in his 
inmost being. 

Wotsirb sat loosely in his chair, hands on 
knees, shoulders and head slightly bent for- 
ward, gazing apparently into space. His yel- 
lowish hair and beard, his pink cheeks, half- 
parted lips, vacant blue eyes, suggested the poet, 
the dreamer, the religious enthusiast who, with 
more of fire in his nature, might be a fanatic. 
He seemed to be anything but a man of ac- 
tion who could do things as well as imagine 
them. 

Once, irritated by his visitor’s seeming inat- 
1 44 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tention, Cuyler stopped short his narrative, ex- 
claiming: 

“ Do you follow me!” 

“ Perfectly,” Wotsirb replied, without mov- 
ing a muscle, other than those of speech. 

“ Can you remember all these particulars? 
Don’t you want paper and pencil for making 
notes as I go along?” 

For reply the detective started in with a sen- 
tence Cuyler had spoken ten minutes previous, 
and continued repeating word for word, inflec- 
tion for inflection, every syllable which had fol- 
lowed. It was a marvellous feat. 

“ Now,” he concluded, “ I hope you are sat- 
isfied. I recollect everything; I forget nothing. 
I have an automatic memory, and my whole 
nature absorbs like a sponge that which I hear. 
It is nothing mysterious — I merely rely on the 
subconscious self . . . Kindly continue, and 
do not interrupt me again (unless I give the 
word) until your story is finished.” 

Cuyler started in his chair, and the other 
forestalled a possible angry response by asking, 
in his quiet, monotonous voice: 

“ Have you engaged any new servants lately, 
[ 45 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

or other employees, at your country place, or 
on board your yacht? ” 

“Possibly; I don’t know . . . Why?” 

“ It is well to be cautious. Some such person 
might be planted in your household, acting as 
a spy, and sending your adversaries reports as 
to your course of action, and so on.” 

Cuyler stroked his moustache thoughtfully. 
He was uncomfortable at the suggestion, but 
not alarmed in any way. He knew that officers 
of certain great corporations under his financial 
control employed scores of secret agents who 
posed as workmen in railways, mines, mills; 
and whose business was to keep the managers 
thereof informed as to the attitude of the men 
toward their bosses. In many instances these 
secret agents were high in the councils of 
labour unions. 

“ Anything else? ” he inquired, laconically, as 
the other concluded. 

“ Nothing at present. I’m going with you 
to New York so as to ask some questions on 
the way. Hereafter I must be able to have 
immediate access to you at all times, day or 
night. I may never need to call upon you ; but 
[ 46 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

I must have the right to do so at any moment, 
in case of sudden emergency. 

“ From now on, however, I must work along 
my own lines. I will keep you informed of any 
development, any hope even, that is well 
founded, if it would help ease your mind. On 
the other hand you may prosecute a search, if 
you choose, wholly independent of me. The 
first thing Monday morning you will place 
twenty-five thousand dollars to my credit, so 
I can draw on it freely for expenses, of which 
I shall keep and render you later an exact ac- 
counting . . . Now it is time to start for 

the train.” 

At the railway station all of the afternoon 
papers were obtained, and Wotsirb sat reading 
them in the private drawing-room Cuyler had 
previously reserved in the second Pullman car, 
while the banker went forward to eat his long- 
delayed meal. 

Just after the train pulled out of Baltimore 
Cuyler, feeling much better, rejoined the de- 
tective, who at once plunged into the question 
of Eleanor’s disappearance. 

“ Now, about this painter man, Sheldon 
[4 7 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Winthrop,” he began. “ Have you any reason 
to think him in love with your daughter ?” 

“None whatever.’* 

“ Supposing you to be mistaken — supposing 
that they are in love, would you oppose their 
marriage? ” 

“ Not in the slightest. On the contrary, I 
should heartily approve it. He is a fine fellow 
• — we have known his family for twenty years 
and I always make him welcome when he comes 
to the house, which is not often, however.” 

“ Good. I want to meet Sheldon Winthrop 
as soon as possible — to-night if it can be ar- 
ranged. Your yacht, the Norseman , is 
where? ” 

“At the New York Yacht Club anchorage, 
awaiting orders. I expect to go on board about 
ten o’clock, after seeing the reporters at the 
Metropolis Club, and spend the night cruising 
in the Sound . . . It’s pretty hot weather, 

and I want to get a good night’s sleep if I 
can.” 

Wotsirb nodded, and relapsed into silence. 
A few moments later he spoke again. 

“ I want you to wire Mr. Winthrop to meet 
[ 48 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

you at your club this evening. I will be wait- 
ing in a cab outside. When he arrives you can 
send for me to come in, explain briefly your 
daughter’s disappearance, and he and I will go 
away together for a talk.” 

As he concluded, Wotsirb handed Cuyler a 
telegraph blank which was quickly written on 
and returned to him. 

“ The chances are that Winthrop would not 
be in his studio such a hot night,” Cuyler re- 
marked, “ or at his club, either. He’s probably 
out of town somewhere over Sunday, but you 
can send the message anyhow, when the train 
stops at Philadelphia.” 

Nearly an hour remained while they were 
speeding northward through Maryland and 
Delaware, and the detective used it to good 
advantage. His listlessness was gone now. In- 
stead he was alert, keen, quick as Cuyler him- 
self — he was seeking, not absorbing, informa- 
tion. 

“With Mr. Winthrop out of the way as a 
possible suitor,” he remarked, placing the tele- 
gram in his pocket, “ do you think your daugh- 
ter is in love with anyone else ? ” 

[49l 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Positively not. Her relations with me have 
been of the closest a father could have with his 
child, even closer perhaps than would have 
been possible had her mother continued to live. 
She knows that I wish to see her happily mar- 
ried, and that I would not object to any square, 
honest, self-respecting man, no matter what his 
financial or social status ... In spite of 
some appearances, I am pretty old-fashioned, 
Wotsirb, when it comes to love, marriage, 
home-life.” 

“Mr. Wotsirb,” the detective quietly cor- 
rected, and the other man reddened again, but 
said nothing. 

On sped the train and Wotsirb decided that 
one of the first things to do was to find out 
from a certain unobtrusive gentleman who had 
membership in half a dozen uptown clubs, 
whether Mr. Cuyler had been indiscreet enough 
to permit any unscrupulous young woman to 
cajole a promise of marriage from him — a very 
ordinary occurrence with rich, elderly widow- 
ers, and one likely to lead to all sorts of com- 
plications, including severance of family ties. 
He hardly thought Cuyler had been such a fool, 
[ 50 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

but then you never can tell in such cases. How- 
ever, the question could be answered offhand, 
and definitely, by the unobtrusive gentleman, 
who, because of his ability to acquire valuable 
information, received a considerable salary in 
the shape of interest payments on foreign 
bonds — which had cost him nothing and were 
held in trust for him by bankers in Paris. 

It was this gentleman’s business to know all 
about the love affairs of some who posed high 
in American finance. And in return for such 
information Wotsirb sometimes exchanged like 
data concerning prominent Europeans sojourn- 
ing in Washington and New York. From his 
standpoint it was perfectly legitimate, a part 
of the game recognised by those who dealt 
the cards. 

One thing was sure — Eleanor had not disap- 
peared as part of a blackmailing scheme. It 
would be impossible for any human being to 
blackmail a man having Cuyler’s iron will, in- 
domitable powers of mind and body, and those 
piercing eyes. But as for feminine intrigue 
planned to cause estrangement of relatives and 
their loss of a great estate when Cuyler should 
[5i] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

come to die — well, that was another matter. 
That was entirely possible. 

Of course it might very easily happen that 
Eleanor was in a hospital either as a result of 
accident on the street, or of illness due to the 
overpowering heat. Or she might, perhaps, 
have suffered that curious interruption of men- 
tal functions which causes a person in apparent 
health to suddenly lose his or her identity for 
weeks at a time. Such cases are not uncommon, 
as the detective well knew. And in order to 
look out for these three possibilities — accident, 
illness, loss of identity — Wotsirb drafted a long 
message, which he later sent to twenty Secret 
Service men in as many cities east of Chicago, 
with instructions to search for a young woman 
whom he described as of Eleanor’s appearance, 
and whom — the message intimated — was the 
daughter of a prominent Senator. 

Whatever scruples the President might have 
as to making use of the Government Secret Serv- 
ice in a private matter, Wotsirb had none. For 
the time being this man had but one object in 
life, and everything else must bend to it. 

His business was to find the missing girl. 

[ 52 ] 


V 


When the Congressional Limited rumbled 
into the train-shed at Jersey City and came to 
a stop, Cuyler and Wotsirb stepped from their 
car to find Johnson waiting on the platform, 
and with him Sheldon Winthrop. 

“ Mrs. Hazard sent for me last evening,” 
the latter explained, as he and the banker 
started toward the ferry entrance, followed by 
the others. “ She told me about your daughter, 
hoping I could be of some assistance. To-day 
I called at your office and Mr. Johnson said 
you would be here on this train.” 

“ I am glad you came. The man with John- 
son is in charge of the matter, and wants to see 
you about it. Tell him everything you can. 
He is to be trusted implicitly.” 

They parted in the ferry-house, Wotsirb and 
Winthrop crossing to Cortlandt Street; Cuyler 
and Johnson going uptown on a Twenty-third 
Street boat. 

During the sail up the river the banker’s 
[53l 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

secretary told of inquiring at hospitals in three 
New Jersey cities without avail, and reported 
in detail how the stock market had closed — in 
a fever amounting almost to demoralisation of 
securities identified with the great house of 
Cuyler & Company. 

“ Mr. Bloodgood will be waiting for you at 
the Club,’* he concluded, “ as will a dozen or 
so reporters and correspondents.” 

Half an hour later Mortimer Cuyler stepped 
from his cab, entered a white marble building 
in upper Fifth Avenue, and gave a hearty wel- 
come to the newspaper men who had gathered 
there in the reception-room. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know what caused the 
market to go off,” he said, in reply to ques- 
tions. “ I have been in Washington on a mat- 
ter of purely personal interest, and of course 
called on the President to pay my respects. I 
guess things downtown will look better in a day 
or two. I can see absolutely no reason for the 
slump.” 

“ How about your sunstroke? ” asked one of 
the group. 

“Do I look as if I’d had one?” Cuyler 
[ 54 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

returned, throwing back his massive head and 
laughing heartily. “ The fact is, gentlemen, 
I’m feeling pretty fit for such a hot night. And 
as I’m hungry as a bear, I’ll ask you to excuse 
me while I go to dinner.” 

“ Isn’t there anything of interest you could 
tell us? ” begged one of the disappointed news- 
gatherers. 

Cuyler paused a moment, and thought deeply. 

“Nothing; nothing at all, unless you should 
think it worth while to mention in your Society 
column that my daughter has gone out of town 
for a time. That’s all I can think of. Good 
night, gentlemen — and thank you for your 
interest in coming to see me.” 

He nodded a kindly dismissal and turned 
away, while the reporters started toward the 
Club-house entrance. 

Bloodgood was waiting for him in the main 
dining-room, and soon they were seated at a 
table, plunged deeply into discussion of the raid 
on Cuyler & Company’s properties. Again, by 
effort of his unyielding will, Eleanor was put 
out of her father’s half-distracted mind, as was 
the impending strike of anthracite miners, and 
[ 55 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

everything else but the vital matter under 
immediate consideration. 

Meanwhile, Winthrop and the detective had 
gone directly uptown to the former’s studio. 

“It will be quiet there, won’t it?” said 
Wotsirb. “ And we can be free from interrup- 
tion? Besides, I want to see that portrait you 
have painted of Miss Cuyler, and so fix her in 
my mind that I could instantly pick her out of 
a crowd anywhere.” 

They had barely arrived at their destination 
when a long-threatening thunder-storm broke, 
and with it came a sudden drop of temperature 
bringing vitality, energy, strength into the whole 
city, which had been sweltering for days. 

“Whew, but that’s good!” Winthrop ex- 
claimed, standing by an open window and drink- 
ing down great draughts of the cool, refresh- 
ing breeze. “An hour ago I was pretty nearly 
a wreck, but now I am ready for anything! 
First of all, though, you wish to see the 
portrait.” 

He turned on the electric light, pulled for- 
ward an easel, and lifted back a cloth which 
[ 56 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

hung lightly in front of his canvas. “There 
it is,” he added. 

“ And in the very costume she wore when 
she disappeared!” Wotsirb commented with 
keen approval. 

“ Yes, she wanted it done in that dress,” said 
Winthrop, u and it is all there, even to the little 
Hindu locket her aunt brought back from India 
a year or so ago. You can see it, and its deli- 
cate gold chain, half hidden in the lace col- 
lar.” 

The detective was more than pleased. 

“Now that is worth while! I thought she 
might have posed in a ball-gown, or some fancy 
costume, and that would have made it more 
difficult. . . I must have this photographed 

at once.” 

“ Well, I don’t know ” Winthrop hesi- 

tated, with all a young painter’s pride in his 
work. 

“ It doesn’t make any difference how much 
one’s feelings are hurt,” the other rejoined. 
“ This is a very serious matter. Nothing must 
be left undone to find her, and your portrait 
here will be of great value to my assistants in 
[ 57 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the search. Surely you wouldn’t refuse, Mr. 
Winthrop?” 

“ No, of course not — since you put it that 
way. But I would dislike very much to have 
the photograph come out in Sunday newspapers 
all over the country. It would shock Mr. 
Cuyler’s family, and all of their friends.” 

“Newspapers! You don’t think, do you, 
that newspapers or the police or anyone else 
will be allowed to see the picture? Why, Mr. 
Cuyler put me on the case so that not a word 
would leak out about it. And you, Mr. Win- 
throp, must use the greatest caution, lest a 
single thoughtless sentence should escape you, 
and get to the ears of the reporters.” 

Wotsirb spoke with an impressive earnest- 
ness and power that surprised the painter. 

“ I see, I see,” he finally remarked. “ I ap- 
preciate all you say. But will that prevent me 
from making an independent effort, on my own 
part, to find her? ” 

“ No, not if you are cautious.” 

“We grew up together as children.” The 
younger man spoke half dreamily. “ Until a 
few years ago, when she went to college, we 
[ 58 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

used to see each other daily ... It would 
be very hard for me to sit still and fold my 
hands.” 

Wotsirb watched him keenly, with narrowing 
eyes. 

“ When I was a little boy,” the painter con- 
tinued, smiling, “I used to suppose she and I 
would be married when we grew up. I don’t 
feel that, now, nor she. But I would like to 
act as best-man at her wedding.” 

He spoke simply, quietly, unreservedly. 

The detective was satisfied. “ It is getting 
late,” he said, glancing at his watch. “ I have 
work to do. I will come with a camera and 
take the photograph myself. Good night.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Wotsirb,” responded 
Winthrop, rising from his chair. “ I’ll be on 
hand.” 

He gazed at the canvas while the detective 
ran down stairs to the street entrance, then care- 
fully replaced the protecting cloth and pushed 
the easel against the wall. As he leaned back 
in the window seat, lighting his old, blackened 
pipe, a thousand memories rushed over him, of 
a little girl and a little boy, playing in what 
[ 59 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

seemed enchanted gardens ; of games, and pony 
rides; of childish quarrels and forgiveness; of 
a myriad of tendrils that had enmeshed them 
year by year. 

And now she was gone. 

The certainty of death would almost be better 
than the possibility that at this moment she 
might be lying in some place injured, suffering 
and helpless, unable to communicate with those 
nearest and dearest to her; death would cer- 
tainly be preferable to captivity under condi- 
tions the very thought of which made Winthrop 
shudder — yet they were possible in this great, 
remorseless city. 

But what to do — that was the question? 
Memories of childhood must be brushed aside. 
This was no time for dreams or fears. This 
was time for action! 

The young man sprang from his seat and 
strode back and forth in his studio, thinking 
deeply, puffing huge clouds of smoke until the 
top of his pipe-bowl glowed like a furnace. 
Back and forth he paced with knitted brows, 
lithe as a cat, noiseless of step — and suddenly 
came to a dead stop in front of a silver loving- 
[60] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cup which had been presented to him, a dozen 
years previous when he had easily outdistanced 
all competitors on his college green. 

That loving-cup brought to Winthrop’s 
surging mind not the field-day of which he was 
hero; but the night before he left the little 
fresh-water college for good and all to go out 
into the world; the long evening he and Bill 
Hambidge and Tom Barrett spent together in 
his rooms talking over the four years during 
which they had been together as more than 
brothers — as inseparable chums, depending on 
each other, never failing each other. Ham- 
bidge was a lawyer now, with a good and 
growing practice. Barrett was what he could 
not help being — the best of good fellows, un- 
spoiled by a fortune he had inherited. But that 
last night of their student life, Barrett was as 
poor as the others, and they faced the world 
on equal footing. They had talked of many 
things that evening, and jokingly likened their 
friendship to that of Dumas’ Musketeers. In 
a spirit of banter Barrett had proposed that 
they cement their friendship permanently by an 
oath of eternal allegiance to one another. And 
[61] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Winthrop recalled how they had laughingly 
gripped hands as they swore to respond in- 
stantly should any one of them call for help, 
no matter when, where, or under what circum- 
stances. And they had agreed then and there 
upon a code signal to be used in a crisis. 

Need for using that code had never arisen, 
and Winthrop had not thought of it in a decade. 
But now, as he stood facing the loving-cup, the 
whole thing flashed over him. 

Where was Tom Barrett to-night? In or 
near Boston, probably. Boston was his home; 
his people had lived there for two ^hundred 
years. He sometimes stepped over to London, 
and now and then ran out to Los Angeles, or 
down to Mexico; but never did he sojourn in 
New York. He had for Manhattan Island the 
true Bostonian’s utter contempt. 

Never mind, a message to his apartment, and 
another to his club would be sure to find him, es- 
pecially if forwarding charges were guaranteed. 

It was easier to reach Hambidge. 

Winthrop snatched his hat from a table, 
turned off the lights, and hurried to the nearest 
telegraph office. 


[62] 


VI 


The message addressed to Barrett at his club 
in the Back Bay district was held there and 
placed in the box where he semi-occasionally 
received dainty notes written on faintly fra- 
grant paper, and other unimportant mail 
matter. 

The duplicate of this telegram, sent to his 
apartment, was forwarded to Bristol, Rhode 
Island, thence to Bar Harbor, finally to a little 
station beyond Portland, from which it was 
carried by messenger six miles across country to 
Bleak Rock, Van Studdiford’s summer place, 
with its sheltered harbour and mile of coast- 
front, where Barrett was spending the week- 
end. 

Barrett had spent several week-ends there 
already, that summer, largely because it was a 
most comfortable place for a man of his gen- 
erous tastes, and secondly because he supposed 
it would be the proper thing to marry Mildred 
Van Studdiford, sometime, when he should get 
[63] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

around to it. Just when that would be Tom 
hadn’t decided; in fact he had only recently 
reached the definite decision to do his part in 
the marriage, since everybody in their set 
seemed to expect it as a matter of course. 
Chance, fate, or clever manoeuvring on the part 
of Mildred’s mother — whatever you may 
choose to call it — had thrown them together a 
good deal during the previous winter and 
spring; first in Boston, then at Pinehurst, again 
at Atlantic City during Easter week; and at a 
house-party in the Berkshires early in May. 
Barrett hadn’t particularly cared for Miss Van 
Studdiford, but she was good-looking, agree- 
able, possessed of the social gift, and he sup- 
posed it might as well be she as anyone else; 
especially in the view of the obvious fact that 
anyone else would disappoint the expectations 
of so many of their friends. 

He had come down to Bleak Rock on Friday, 
and concluded that if weather conditions were 
propitious, say on Sunday, he and she would 
sail to Sentinel Island far across the bay, and 
go ashore to enjoy the sunset; when he would 
say the usual thing to be said under like cir- 

[64] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cumstances, and thus ring down the curtain on 
Act I, in the conventional way. 

He wanted to be sure of a soft breeze and 
good water, in addition to a sunset, because 
atmosphere plays such an agreeable part in 
a romance. Therefore, it was long past three 
o’clock that Sunday afternoon, when he sug- 
gested a sail, and it was quite four o’clock when 
he and she stepped aboard the waiting craft. 
He was just about to tell the man on the dock 
to cast off, when he heard his name called, and 
looking up saw a house-servant racing toward 
them down the slope, waving a yellow envelope 
high in the air. 

They waited until he arrived, and Barrett 
hastily glanced at the message. Again he read 
it: 

New York, July 21. 

Thomas H. Barrett, 

Algonquin Apartments, 

Boston. 

Seven black cats. 

Sheldon Winthrop, 

Studio Building, 
West Fifty-fifth Street. 

[65] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“What the devil!” Barrett exclaimed to 
himself, frowning and poring over the yellow 
paper. “Has Winthrop gone crazy? What 
does he mean?” 

Then he suddenly leaned against the mast of 
the cat-boat, and gurgled, and choked, and 
finally roared with laughter, as the meaning of 
the message burst upon him, and the remem- 
brance of that final night at college, a dozen 
years previous, when three rattle-brained young- 
sters had gaily resolved themselves into three 
modern Musketeers, and agreed upon a signal 
of distress. 

“ So Winthrop wants me, and wants me to 
come at once,” Barrett reflected, his active brain 
rapidly conning the situation. “ Wonder what 
in thunder he’s up to? . . . I’ll bet a dollar 
he’s going to be married on short notice and 
wants me to act as best man ! ” 

Meanwhile Miss Van Studdiford had been 
waiting. Now the toe of one diminutive shoe 
tapped the deck impatiently. Miss Van Studdi- 
ford was evidently annoyed. 

Barrett glanced at her — and had a sudden 
inspiration. She was an agreeable little thing; 

[ 66 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

but by George ! he wasn’t ready quite yet to tie 
himself down. Didn’t Winthrop’s telegram 
furnish a sufficient excuse for him to make to 
the lady — who was growing more impatient 
moment by moment? 

“Yes, sir!” he mentally declared, putting 
the message in his pocket. “ I’ll keep my part 
of that college compact. I’ll give Sheldon 
Winthrop a run for his money this time ! ” 

Then he turned to the girl, still standing in 
the boat. 

“ I’m sorry,” he said, speaking rapidly and 
glancing at his watch, u but we’ll have to post- 
pone the sail. I must leave at once for New 
York . . . Joseph! Run to the stable and 
get the fastest horse harnessed to take me to 
the station ! ” 

“ Is — is it bad news? ” Mildred asked. She 
had known intuitively that her future would be 
settled that afternoon, and Barrett felt her 
hand tremble as he helped her ashore. 

“No — not for me, that i9. An old friend 
has sent for me to come to him, and I must 
go ” 

They hurried up the long incline and across 
[ 67 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the lawn, reaching the house as a light runa- 
bout drawn by a young blooded-mare arrived 
at the door. Barrett vaulted to the seat before 
the wheels stopped. 

“ Good-bye ! ” he called. “ Explain things 
to your father and mother — I’ll write soon ! ” 

Then to the driver by his side: “ Get me to 
the station in thirty minutes, and you will earn 
a ten-dollar bill.” 

The whip sang as it cut the air, the beautiful, 
high-bred mare gave one splendid bound up- 
ward and forward, and the runabout started on 
a mad, wild dash toward the railway. 

Over the roads it whirled, up hills, down 
steep grades, across level stretches, in a cloud of 
blinding dust, the driver leaning forward with 
grim, set face; Barrett, beside him, hanging to 
his seat with one hand, holding his open watch 
in the other. They heard a whistle in the dis- 
tance as they came to the last mile, and again 
the whip sang — once, twice, thrice; and the 
terrified, foam-spattered chestnut broke into a 
frenzied gallop. Through a patch of woods 
and around a long curve on two wheels — the 
driver bare-headed now, his reins taut as wire; 

[ 68 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ten great leaps forward— nine — six— three- 
one ! And they were at the station. 

The mare threw her head high in air, 
her eyes white with dumb terror, her nostrils 
blood-red; a great shiver passed over her from 
ears to ankles; and her head sank forward. 

“ The train to Portland ! ” Barrett shouted, 
as he burst into the ticket office. “ Has it gone 
yet? ” 

The agent gazed in amazement at the dust- 
clad, excited figure. 

“ No, she hain’t left yet — that’s her cornin’ 
here now,” he said leisurely. 

It was a miserable, slow-going way train that 
took him to Portland; one which jogged lei- 
surely along for a mile or two, then pulled up 
at a station, often a mere hamlet, a flagman’s 
box with one or two farmhouses in sight; some- 
times even at a cross-roads. Passengers 
boarded the train or left it, taking their time, 
carrying bundles and babies, stopping to chat 
and exchange neighbourhood gossip while they 
entered or left the cars. Ten stops in thirty 
miles, and B'arrett in the smoking-car puffed 
away at his cigar, vainly trying to obtain in- 
[ 69 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

formation from the conductor as to the first 
train he could take out of Boston for New 
York. 

“Well, I dunno,” the conductor said to a 
thrice-repeated inquiry. “ I only go as fur’s 
Portlan’, which I told ye before. Hain’t ben 
to Bost’n sence I was twelve years old. But 
ye can get a sight of trains there, Sundays and 
all” 

Portland was reached finally — at five-forty. 
The express from the East, bound for Boston, 
would arrive in ten minutes, and lay over until 
six o’clock. Barrett had twenty minutes for 
action. He utilised them. A long line of pas- 
sengers was waiting at the window of the 
ticket-office, so he demanded an interview with 
the station master, the division superintendent 
— anybody who was in authority. And then he 
learned that, barring accident, the express 
would arrive in Boston at nine-five. The first 
train he could take for New York left Boston 
at eleven o’clock and was due in the Grand 
Central Station at six-forty-five the next morn- 
ing — a run of nearly eight hours. 

“ I can’t afford that time ! ” he exclaimed, 
[ 70 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Why, the Bay State Limited makes the run 
in five hours, day after day!” 

“Yes,” said the official imperturbably, “she 
does.” 

Barrett paced to and fro thinking hard. The 
zest of the chase was on him. The spirit of 
the thing, which at first amused him, now had 
taken possession of his being. He was con- 
vinced that something serious had happened to 
Winthrop, who, perhaps, was in a dangerous 
situation, waiting minute by minute for his 
friend to appear and rescue. 

Reckless of consequence, Barrett seized a tele- 
graph blank. 

“ I want to order a special train from Bos- 
ton to New York. Who shall I telegraph- 
to?” 

The official told him. 

“A special,” Tom reflected as his pen trav- 
elled across the yellow paper, “ ought to make 
the run in four-and-a-half hours. If it leaves 
by ten o’clock I can reach Winthrop’s studio 
shortly after two-thirty to-morrow morning.” 

He signed the message and handed it to the 
operator, with an extra dollar-bill to make 
[7i] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

sure that it was immediately put on the wires; 
then went out to the waiting express. 

It was fifteen minutes before three o’clock 
Monday morning when Barrett’s special 
stopped in the Grand Central Station, and its 
one passenger hurried out to the carriage 
stand. 

“ Fifty-fourth Street and Seventh Avenue! ” 
he commanded as he swung into a cab and 
slammed the door. “ Let me off at the corner 
— as fast as the police will permit ! ” 

By this time the cab was turning around in 
Forty-second Street. Up Madison Avenue it 
dashed in the cool, sweet-smelling darkness 
and then westward through Fifty-fourth/ 
Once a policeman stepped from the sidewalk 
and held up a warning hand, but stepped back 
again as the driver called: 

“ Doctor inside there ! It’s a life-and-death 


The driver knew his business. He could 
pick out a patron who was generous with tips 
as far as the next one. 

When the cab stopped at Seventh Avenue to 

I >] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

let him get out, Barrett tossed a bill to the man 
on the box, and started on foot for Fifty-fifth 
Street. He had planned the whole thing care- 
fully. What had happened to his college mate 
he knew not, of course, but something serious, 
surely. That was enough. If Winthrop were 
lying desperately ill, and alone, it would never 
do to have a cab tear up the street and stop in 
front of the building; hence he had left it a 
short block distant. There might be other 
emergencies of which Sheldon was the victim. 
He must proceed cautiously as well as rapidly. 

The entrance to the building was unlocked, 
and the halls were dimly lighted. Up the stairs 
Barrett went, three steps at a time, and by the 
aid of matches examined the visiting cards of 
tenants which were tacked on one studio-door 
after another. Finally on the third floor, front, 
he came upon his friend’s name. 

For a moment he paused, listening intently. 
Yes, there could be no doubt of it — someone 
was in the studio, breathing heavily. 

He knocked lightly. There was no response. 

Again he knocked, and called: “Wake up, 
Winthrop ! It’s me — Barrett I ” 

[ 73 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

He pressed his ear to the door, and distinctly 
heard a man groan, evidently trying to speak, 
but unable — gagged and bound, perhaps! 

Barrett sprang back across the hall, gathered 
his huge frame together, and launched himself, 
shoulder first, into the air. The door cracked 
and shivered, but resisted the onslaught — held 
fast. Without waiting an instant he hurled his 
mighty bulk against it a second time, and a 
third, when it crashed inward — the lock burst, 
the hinges torn out — and fell with a bang on 
the floor. Barrett fell with it, but bounded to 
his feet like a rubber ball, squared off, took in 
the whole scene with a single sweeping glance, 
and in one jump reached the broad window- 
seat, where he dimly saw the figure of a man 
trying to arise. 

“ Winthrop ! ” he roared in tones that could 
be heard a block away, “ It’s all right, old 
man! I’m here — Barrett — what’s the row?” 

“ Easy, easy, Tom — you’ll shake my collar- 
bone loose . . . There, that’s better. Let 

me turn on the light, so.” 

Barrett stepped back as the other pressed a 
button close at hand, and saw before him Ham- 
[ 74 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

bidge, heavy-eyed, clad in pyjamas; yawning, 
but grinning nevertheless. 

“ Hullo, Bill ! ” he cried after a moment of 
suspense. “ Might have known you’d get here 
ahead of me — but where’s Winthrop, and 
what’s the trouble? ” 

“ Oh, he’s down at Manhattan Beach for 
the night. I got here late Sunday afternoon 
and found him so used up that I sent him 
away to take a dip in the ocean and get some 
sleep. He’ll be back for breakfast by eight or 
nine at latest.” 

“ But the trouble, man — speak up ! ” 

Barrett approached Hambidge again, impet- 
uously stretching out a mighty arm. 

“Hold on, Tom! Sit down there — now I 
can tell you.” 

And he repeated all that Winthrop had told 
him; how Eleanor and Mrs. Hazard had been 
at the studio the previous Monday, how they 
had walked together to Seventh Avenue, where 
the girl had boarded a car, waved good-bye to 
her aunt — and had not been seen or heard of 
since. 

“ The devil you say! ” Barrett roared, as the 
[ 75 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

other concluded. “ What does her father 
think? What has he been doing? What have 
you and Winthrop been about? Good Heav- 
ens, man! Here’s a whole week passed, and 
no trace of her ” 

“ Easy, easy, there ! It’s a peculiar case, 
and we must go forward cautiously.” 

“ Caution be hanged ! That’s where your 
miserable, petti-fogging legal training comes in, 
Hambidge. Law and orderliness, I mean. No 
offence to you, old fellow, but this is a case for 
tearing the town wide open — going through 
it with a fine-tooth comb — setting a thousand 
men at work — retaining the entire force of 
every detective agency in the country — calling 
on the newspapers for help. Why, man, think 
what it means! It’s bad enough to have Miss 
Cuyler disappear, kidnapped, held for ransom 
maybe, or murdered in cold blood — the girl our 
chum is in love with — but unless she is found 
and restored unharmed to her family, no other 
woman will he safe going about this barbaric 
city alone , day or night! ” 

“ Tommy,” remarked Hambidge in his 
most judicial manner, “you’re feverish, that’s 
[26]. 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

what you are. And unless you cool down I’ll 
ask Winthrop to have you withdraw from the 
case. You’ll only frustrate our efforts unless 
you’ll behave sensibly, like a real grown-up 
man.” 

“Sensibly!” snorted Barrett; but he ceased 
tramping around the studio, and threw himself 
into a chair. 

“ Go on,” he growled. 

“ I will, so as to save time. In the first place 
Winthrop isn’t in love with the girl ” 

“Tell that to the Marines! ” 

“And furthermore,” Hambidge continued 
calmly, “ Mr. Cuyler has pledged him to 
secrecy — absolute secrecy . For many good 
reasons he would not have the police get hold 
of this, or the newspapers, except as the last, 
final resort. Neither would he call on a private 
detective agency, for fear of a leak, I mean. 
But he has done something better, far more 
important, far more effective.” 

“What?” Barrett commanded with ill-con- 
cealed disgust. 

Hambidge’s voice sank. “ He has invoked 
the personal aid of the President, who has 
[ 77 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

placed at his disposal the Chief Consulting 
Agent of the Federal Secret Service.” 

“ Bully for Cuyler ! ” cried the other man, 
springing from his chair. “ Here, Bill, give 
me something to smoke — where does Winthrop 
keep his cigars? Go on, son. What 

next? ” 

“ This agent, a yellow-haired beggar called 
Wotsirb — though I don’t believe that’s his real 
name — came here this morning; I mean yes- 
terday morning, Sunday — with a camera and 
photographed Miss Cuyler’s portrait which 
Winthrop had just about finished.” 

“ Her portrait! Where — is that it?” 

Hambidge nodded, and Barrett, stepping to 
the easel, threw back the cloth hanging be- 
fore it. 

For a full minute he stood motionless before 
a masterly painting of a young girl in simple, 
unaffected costume, looking straight at him 
with deep, wide-open eyes — an inspired por- 
trait if ever there was one. He could almost 
see her full, young bosom rise and fall; he 
could almost hear her speak with those half- 
parted lips. 


[ 78 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Instantly, quietly, his hat came off, and he 
stood motionless, his head inclined as if in her 
living presence. Then he took one deep, long 
breath and turned to his friend who now stood 
beside him. 

“Is that Eleanor Cuyler?” he asked in a 
reverent whisper. 

Hambidge nodded. 

“ Are you sure that — that Winthrop, our 
chum — that Winthrop really does not love 
her?” 

Again Hambidge nodded. 

“ Absolutely sure,” he said in matter-of-fact 
tones. 

And Barrett, in wonder, silently returned to 
his chair. 


[ 79 ] 


VII 


Nine o’clock found them breakfasting with 
Winthrop at his club. 

“ Haste is waste, not promptness,” said 
Hambidge, “so let’s take our time and have 
a satisfactory meal. We’ve got a lot of things 
to talk over, and we might as well do it here 
as at the studio.” 

“ All right, all right,” Barrett assented, 
“ but it won’t take me long to eat . . . Just 
order peaches and cream for me, Sheldon, and 
a couple of poached eggs and rolls, and a brace 
of English chops. Coffee, of course, but only 
two or three cups.” 

“ What ! ” the painter exclaimed in well- 
feigned surprise, “no cereal?” 

“ Well,” Barrett hesitated, “ perhaps you 
had better add some oatmeal.” 

“And a porterhouse?” added Hambidge, 
inquiringly. 

“ No,” thundered the other, perceiving that 
they were chaffing him. “Just what I have 
[So] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

told you. That’s all ... If I weighed a 
measly hundred-and-fifty, like you bantams, I 
could get along on a few crumbs. But when 
a man’s full grown and tips the scales at two- 
hundred and twenty, stripped, he needs a meal, 
not an excuse for one.” 

“ Look here,” Hambidge broke in, taking 
a newspaper from his pocket and pointing to 
a “ personal ” on the front page. 

They looked and read the following: 

Reward of fifty and no questions asked, for return 
in good condition of parcel in white and brown cov- 
ering, missing from Seventh Avenue car near Forty- 
fourth Street, at about noon, Monday, July 16. M. C. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the painter, “ that’s Wot- 
sirb. If anyone has abducted Eleanor they’ll 
be sure to watch the Personal column for an 
offer of ransom, and they’ll recognise Morti- 
mer Cuyler’s initials at once. It means fifty 
thousand, probably, as a starting figure to work 
up from.” 

“ I don’t know this Secret Service man,” 
Barrett remarked, attacking a roll; “but if 
[81] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

he’s doing that sort of thing he’s on the wrong 
track. Let him alone though, and we’ll get out 
and find the girl while he’s pulling wires and 
trying to trap the kidnappers.” 

“What’s your idea?” asked the lawyer, 
with interest. 

“ The obvious thing to do is to get hold of 
the last person who saw Miss Cuyler. That 
person is the conductor of the Seventh Avenue 
car.” 

“ As she probably got off at Twenty-third 
Street,” Hambidge rejoined, “ with a dozen 
other women, it isn’t likely the conductor 
would remember anything about her — espe- 
cially since a whole week has gone by — even 
if you could locate the conductor.” 

“ Just the same, it’s the first logical step to 
take,” Barrett remarked with dogged persist- 
ence. 

Winthrop said nothing. 

“ It’s certainly worth considering, Tom — 
your plan, I mean,” Hambidge admitted, 
“ but we’d better wait until we get back to the 
studio before deciding on it. Meanwhile, we 
can be thinking of possible objections.” 

[82] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

When they returned to Fifty-fifth Street, an 
hour later, and gathered around a table, Bar- 
rett, as was his wont, took charge of the situa- 
tion. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, without preliminary, 
“ this is a council of war. We must proceed 
carefully, but above all, expeditiously. In the 
first place, it is of the utmost importance 
for us to keep in touch with each other, and 
with Mr. Cuyler, and this detective person. In 
other words, one of us must stay here in the 
studio, which we will regard as headquarters.” 

“ Winthrop is the man for that job,” Ham- 
bidge suggested. 

“ I agree with you,” replied Barrett, “ es- 
pecially because he knows the Cuylers person- 
ally and is known to the Secret Service man.” 

“You and I will act as the field- force, 
then?” 

“ As scouts, perhaps,” returned the Boston- 
ian. “ But first there is one little preliminary 
to be arranged. We need sinews for this cam- 
paign as for any other war. Now don’t inter- 
rupt until I’m through! ” he continued hastily. 
“ Boys, there’s no use acting like a parcel of 
[ 83 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

fools. In the old days at college when two 
of us were strapped — as was generally the case 
— the third man put up all he had and divided 
equally, and nobody ever thought of having an 
accounting.” 

“ Well, I’m not strapped exactly,” the law- 
yer rejoined. 

“ And I have nearly five thousand available 
in bonds,” Winthrop added, reddening a little. 

“ Glad to hear it,” Barrett went on without 
the quiver of an eyelash. “ Keep it there, my 
son. You’ve worked hard and long to get that 
much together — oh, I know something about 
painter-chaps! ” he exclaimed jovially, clapping 
his friend on the knee with a force that was 
felt for three days. “ Now, I’ve got that 
much, and more, coming to me every thirty 
days, without lifting a finger even to beckon 
to it.” 

He pushed back his chair and gazed into the 
faces of the other two. 

“ I put up the capital for this game,” he con- 
cluded, “ or I don’t play.” 

“Not for a minute! ” cried Winthrop. 

“ Well I guess not! ” Hambidge chimed in. 

[ 84 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Where are you going? ” he added as Barrett 
suddenly arose, kicking his chair half way 
across the room as he did so, and reaching for 
his hat. 

“ I’m going back home,” he growled in tones 
of disgust, starting for the door. 

Hambidge also stood up. 

“ Come back here, Tom,” he commanded. 
“ Don’t be an ass. You can do as you like, 
and we can settle later.” 

“ Now you’re talking sense,” observed the 
New Englander, tossing his hat on the table. 
“ But what’s the first thing to do?” 

“ Start downtown and see Mr. Cuyler,” 
said Winthrop. 

“ I’ll go along and wait until you find out 
whether he’s heard anything over Sunday,” 
Barrett remarked. “Then I’ll make it my 
business to get next to the conductor of that 
car. Bill,” he added, “ it’s up to you to stay 
here and keep house. I don’t know just when 
we’ll get back, but we must all meet again 
sometime to-day or to-night. Come on, Shel- 
don.” 

The two men went out to the corner and 
[ 85 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

walked toward the nearest elevated railroad 
station, engrossed in their plans for the imme- 
diate future. They were mounting the steps, 
when Barrett paused'. 

“ How do you know Mr. Cuyler’s in his 
office? Let’s find out before we travel away 
down to Wall Street.” 

“ That’s so — suppose I step over to the hotel 
there and telephone him? Then if he can 
see me, we will take the elevated for down- 
town.” 

Johnson responded to the telephone call. 
Mr. Cuyler was in; he had reached his office 
at eight that morning, and would be very glad 
to see Mr. Winthrop. 

“ I’ll be down immediately,” said the other, 
ringing off. 

The financier’s secretary was on the lookout 
and met them near the main entrance to the 
banking house, but before he could greet them 
a gigantic Irishman stepped forward to ask the 
newcomers whom they wished to see. “ Big 
Mike’s” business was to be sure that no crank 
or newly-arrived anarchist came over the 
threshold of Cuyler & Company’s quarters. He 
[ 86 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

kept track of professional crooks as a matter 
of general interest, but not because any of them 
would try to gain admittance to his employer’s 
offices. The under-world did not invade the 
financial district. Superintendent Byrnes had 
already established the “ dead-line ” at Fulton 
Street; and any crook known to the police who 
attempted to cross it was supposed to be ar- 
rested on sight, no matter what his errand — 
“ for the good of society.” 

“ Come right in, Mr. Winthrop,” said John- 
son, welcoming the painter and his friend, and 
leading them along the corridor to one of sev- 
eral small waiting-rooms. 

As they passed him “ Big Mike ” photo- 
graphed their faces and general appearance on 
the unfading film of his remarkable memory. 
They might not come within his ken again for 
ten years, or twenty — but whenever or wher- 
ever they should reappear, alone or together, 
he would recognise them instantly, unerringly. 
That was why he drew five thousand dollars a 
year salary for standing by that front door 
seven hours a day, apparently doing nothing. 

Barrett remained in a waiting-room while 
[ 87 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Johnson took Winthrop into the private office 
where Cuyler sat alone at a large, old-fash- 
ioned mahogany desk. 

The banker greeted his visitor with a quiet 
cordiality, but his expression was tense, and 
there were lines of anxiety about his eyes. 

“Have a chair, Sheldon,” he said; then 
added to his secretary, “ Don’t let me be dis- 
turbed by anyone excepting Wotsirb — he must 
have immediate access at any moment.” 

Johnson closed the door after him and sat 
near it, where he could intercept anyone ap- 
proaching the private office. 

“ First of all,” the banker continued, turning 
to his visitor, “ have you heard or found out 
anything? ” 

“ Practically nothing. You saw that ‘ per- 
sonal ’ in the morning papers, of course? ” 

The older man nodded. 

Winthrop wanted to ask whether he had 
news of his missing daughter, but restrained 
the impulse; for Cuyler turned away toward 
the window and looked down at the human ants 
scurrying this way and that, through Wall 
Street. Here and there little knots of men 
[ 88 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

gathered, talked absorbingly, then hastily 
parted. One or two in every group showed 
the others something in an early edition of the 
afternoon papers. 

There was excitement in the air, and it was 
growing. Newsboys were running hither and 
thither, selling extras. Their shrill, sharp 
voices came to the private office indistinctly. 
Winthrop could not make out the words they 
shouted. 

Finally the banker spoke again. 

“ Sheldon,” he said, “ I know how desirous 
you are to help find my girl, and I will put 
nothing in your way. Personally, however, I 
shall make no independent move — certainly not 
until Wotsirb’s efforts prove fruitless. He is in 
complete charge of the case, and my counsel 
advises me to do exactly as he says, and to keep 
hands off.” 

“ But you give me permission to go ahead on 
my own initiative? ” 

“ Provided you use the utmost care not to let 
the matter become public. If by any chance 
you should get a trace of Eleanor you will let 
me know, of course . . . She is what her 

[ 89 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

mother was the day we were married,” he con- 
cluded, huskily. 

For the second time he turned toward the 
window, and its light showed his face colour- 
less, grey, hopeless — a reflection for the mo- 
ment of the despairing spirit within. 

Winthrop was shocked. 

“Nothing will be left undone, Mr. Cuyler, 
to find her,” he said, rising. 

“ Thank you, Sheldon . . . When you 

can do so, please run down and see Mrs. 
Hazard. She must be very anxious indeed 
. . . Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye, sir.” 

The painter rejoined Barrett, and they started 
uptown to find the conductor in whose car 
Eleanor had disappeared. 


[ 90 ] 


VIII 


While they were at Cuyler’s office a wiry, 
slender man with tawny hair and beard called 
on the Assistant Superintendent of the old 
Seventh Avenue car-line, at its uptown office, 
long since abandoned. The stranger was well 
dressed, and moved with a promptness, a deci- 
sion, that commanded respectful attention. 

“ My name is Erskine,” he said without 
hesitation, “ and I want to find the conductor 
of a certain car who recently rendered a 
marked courtesy to a friend of mine.” 

The Assistant Superintendent looked up in 
surprise. He was accustomed to calls from 
passengers, irate, indignant, angry, who wished 
to make complaints about his men; but here 
was something new. 

“Do you know the conductor’s number?” 
he asked. 

“ No. All I do know is that his car passed 
down Seventh Avenue, crossing Fifty-fifth 
Street between twelve-fifteen and twelve-forty- 
five last Monday; a week ago to-day.” 

[9i] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“We may be able to trace him,” said the 
official. “ Cars are running under long head- 
way at noon in this season of the year. Prob- 
ably six or eight passed Fifty-fifth Street in the 
half hour you mentioned.” 

He touched a bell, and a clerk responded. 

“Take this gentleman down to the starter. 
He wants to locate a conductor.” 

Ten minutes later Wotsirb had explained his 
errand to the subordinate who kept records of 
cars and trips, motormen and conductors. He 
found by examining the records that nine cars 
should have passed Fifty-fifth Street in the half 
hour specified. 

“ Three or four of those conductors are loaf- 
ing around the barns now,” the starter added. 
“ Do you want to see them ? ” 

Wotsirb did want to see them, and they were 
sent to him, one after another, where he stood 
alone in a doorway of the big barns. 

A lady, he said, a friend of his, had gone 
downtown the previous Monday, in a Seventh 
Avenue car, and had had an unusual experience. 
He wished to thank and reward the conductor 
who had been kind to her. 

[92] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

At the mention of reward every man-jack 
of the conductors in turn pricked up his ears. 
One floundered along telling of a lady who had 
been nearly run over by a passing truck when 
she left the car, and whom he had saved from 
injury at the risk of his own safety. 

“What did she look like?” asked Wotsirb, 
directing his clear, unflinching gaze full upon 
the other. 

“ Well, she — she was about forty — no, I 
mean thirty,” the conductor hesitatingly re- 
plied, “ and had black hair, and a light dress, 
and a white straw hat. Pretty stout, too. 
Good-lookin’, I’d call her ” 

“ Next ! ” said Wotsirb. 

The second conductor had paid out of his 
own pocket the fare of a sweet-faced, white- 
haired old lady whom Wotsirb resembled 
enough for her to be his mother. 

He was peremptorily dismissed. 

The next conductor, avaricious for possible 
reward of a five-dollar bill, said he had pro- 
tected a young girl from the attentions of a 
“ masher ” who was annoying her. 

“ Looked like she was an innocent young 
[ 93 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

thing from the country cornin’ here to visit 
relations,” he continued, waxing enthusiastic as 
his vivid imagination swept on, multiplying the 
reward until it appeared to him in the light of 
a twenty-dollar bill. “ She was dressed coun- 
try fashion, too,” he declared, taking long 
chances, “ an’ even told me, when she thanked 
me so pretty, that it was her first visit to New 
York — or the second, anyhow; I disremember 
which.” 

Git ! ” said Wotsirb, briefly, and this disap- 
pointed conductor turned away to join his fel- 
low liars outside. 

The fourth man who came to the doorway 
was tall and lean and self-possessed. He eyed 
Wotsirb without saying a word. Something 
about the fellow was impressive, and at last 
the detective broke silence. 

“ Have those other conductors told you what 
I’m after?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well?” 

“ She went down on muh car as far as Forty- 
fift’ Street.” 

“ Dressed how? ” 


[ 94 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Brown and white.” 

Wotsirb’s pulse jumped, but in even voice he 
asked: “What happened?” 

The conductor thereupon began a detailed 
recital which proved him to be an uncom- 
monly keen, shrewd observer of current events. 
Relieved of its slang and street idiom, his 
story, in brief, was as follows : 

The passenger had barely taken her seat in 
the otherwise empty car when she noticed that 
two men, strangers, followed, and sat down 
one on either side of her, not close enough to 
crowd her in the slightest, but still uncomfort- 
ably near. A rapid glance sidewise told her 
that one of them was in priestly garb, smooth- 
shaven, red-faced, with pudgy hands and a 
paunch. The other, to her right, was thin and 
tall; well-dressed, wore a closely cropped and 
pointed beard, and carried a small surgical kit 
of black leather. 

The car went on its way, swaying and jolting 
down Seventh Avenue toward the intersection 
of Broadway, without a stop, for the heat was 
intense; there were few people on the streets, 
and strange to say not another passenger had 
[ 95 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

come on board. Alongside rolled a cab drawn 
by a flea-bitten horse — the only vehicle in sight. 

As the car lurched slowly past Forty-eighth 
Street the conductor bethought himself of 
fares, and leaving the rear platform, leisurely 
approached the two men and the charmingly 
gowned girl sitting between them, and held out 
his hand. The girl opened her silver-purse, 
but before she could take anything from it, the 
man in priest’s garb, to her left, handed the 
conductor a dime and a nickel, remarking: 

“ Three.” 

The conductor rang up three fares before 
the girl could find words to protest. Then, 
thoroughly and suddenly alarmed, she snatched 
a quarter from her purse and tendered it. 

u It’s paid,” the conductor remarked, turn- 
ing to go back to his platform. 

“ I don’t know what you mean ! ” the girl 
exclaimed, trying to appear calm, although she 
trembled visibly, and her face went red and 
white. “ Take my fare, please,” she continued, 
holding it out towards him, “ and hand back 
this — this person’s change to him. There’s 
been a mistake.” 


[ 96 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

For a moment the conductor wavered, but 
a motion of the priestly person decided him. 
One of those pudgy hands was raised to his 
red, solemn face, and a fat finger tapped his 
forehead significantly. Eleanor saw the mo- 
tion, and the penetrating, decisive glance of 
those hawklike eyes as they rested upon her 
for an instant; and her head swam in an agony 
of terror. She sobbed once, and then laughed 
hysterically. Suddenly she tried to rise, but the 
man with the surgeon’s kit took her by the arm, 
and pulled her back to the seat. 

“ Now be still,” he said in a low tone. 
“ .You’ll soon be safe and in a quiet place.” 

“ Yes, my child,” the fat priest added in 
smooth, oily accents. “ Make no disturbance — 
just rest here and wait a bit ” 

The daughter of old Mortimer Cuyler 
sprang to her feet. 

It was no horrid dream, after all! It was 
worse than that — it was reality. 

“ Conductor ! ” she fairly shouted. “ Stop 
this car and call a policeman! ” 

Something in her manner, proud, imperious, 
accustomed to command, gripped the conduc- 
[9 7 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tor’s attention. He stopped the car and the 
girl fairly flew to the rear platform and thence 
to the street. The two men were instantly by 
her side, and while one threw open the door of 
the cab, which quickly pulled up close by them, 
the other lifted her inside — she seemed literally 
paralysed with terror, unable to utter a cry; 
and the cab dashed rapidly through Long Acre 
Square, disappearing in a side street. 

“ It was at Forty-sixt’ Street she screamed 
fer muh to stop the car,” the conductor added, 
“ an’ I done it. I don’t want no trouble wit 
d’ perlice. Youse can’t hold muh if youse are 
from d’ District Attorney’s office. I done what 
was right. D’ loidy run outer d’ car, an’ dey 
chased after her, an’ slung her into a cab wit 
d’ shades pulled down, an’ it skated off like 
I told youse . . . Wot’s d’ reward?” 

“ How do I know you are not lying, too? ” 

“ Because,” the conductor replied, “ when 
she come runnin’ out ter d’ platform she 
snatched somethin’ from her pocketbook an’ 
shoved it in muh hand before d’ men back of 
her could see it.” 

He took off his cap and from the band 
[ 98 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

within carefully withdrew a visiting card, on 
which was engraved: 



Wotsirb pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. 

“I’ll trade it,” he said. 

“Make it fifty?” 

Back went the bill into Wotsirb’s pocket. 

“Well,” said the conductor, disappointed, 
“twenty’ll do, but it’s wort’ fifty.” 

“ What more can. you think of? ” 

“Nuttin’ — ’cept it was queer d’ cab sh’d 
have kep’ alongside d’ car, an’ stopped so close, 
an’ d’ guy drivin’ it didn’t ask no questions or 
wait fer orders. When dey slung d’ loidy in- 
side an’ jumped in after her, slammin’ d’ door, 
d’ mug on d’ box slashed his horse wit’ d’ whip* 
[ 99 ] 



The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

an’ skated across town like an amb’lance on a 
hurry call.” 

“ Sure he did,” Wotsirb responded. “ Those 
fellows had arranged beforehand to have the 
cab follow them.” 

“ That’s so ! ” the conductor exclaimed. 

“What else do you know?” Wotsirb 
demanded. 

“Nuttin’ — nuttin’ else, s’welp me I . . . 

An’ youse can’t hold muh, nuther.” 

“ I don’t want to hold you. I want to em- 
ploy you and pay you well for your time.” 

“ Wot d’ youse wan’ muh to do? ” 

“ Nothing just now except to keep your 
mouth shut.” 

“ I’m on, Boss ! I’ve give youse d’ whole 
blame thing from start to finish. But by this 
time d’ poor loidy’s hid away in a bug-house 
somewhere an’ her relatives ’ll have a tough 
time getting her out. I know, f’r a while ago 
a crazy duck lodgin’ in d’ same place as me 
wuz pinched somep’n d’ same way, only when 
he got to smashing furniture dey tuk him away 
in a strait-jacket . . . His folks didn’t 

have no money, and her’s has got it.” 

I ioo ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ I’ve got some ” Wotsirb replied promptly, 
“ but not any too much.” 

He obtained the name and address of the 
conductor, and again cautioned him not to talk 
about the matter to anyone. 

“ If they find we’re onto them,” he said, 
“ they’ll take her away from the asylum she’s 
in to another one, which means that I won’t 
find her, and you won’t get your hundred.” 

The conductor — sharp, keen, avaricious 
product of the streets of New York — instantly 
saw the force of this remark, and his lips were 
sealed from that moment. 

When Wotsirb left him, with twenty dollars 
in his pocket and prospect of more to come, 
he started for a saloon two blocks distant, and 
proceeded to get immediately and gloriously 
drunk. In this condition he staggered back to 
the car-barns, and was summarily discharged. 

Less than an hour after Winthrop and 
Barrett had left Cuyler’s banking-house Wot- 
sirb arrived there, and was at once shown to 
the private office. 

“ Your daughter is neither killed nor in- 
[ioi] 


• The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

jured,” he announced briefly. “ She has been 
abducted. How much ransom do you author- 
ise me to offer?” 

Wotsirb paused, looking at the other — and 
knew why men quailed before those eyes so 
suddenly ablaze. He could feel their terrible, 
penetrating force piercing him through and 
through. 

“ Not-one-cent,” Cuyler quietly replied, his 
massive jaws becoming more and more set. “ I 
have a duty to society at large, to the 
State . . . Not one cent,” he repeated. 

“ No human being on earth can blackmail me 
to the extent of a farthing!” 

Wotsirb rubbed his hands with satisfaction. 

“ How do you know my daughter has been 
abducted?” the banker suddenly demanded. 

“ I located the conductor of the Seventh 
Avenue car she boarded at Fifty-seventh 
Street. He told how a crazy young woman 
left the car further downtown, accompanied by 
a doctor and a priest who put her in a cab, and 
drove away with her. That young woman’s 
description agrees in every particular with your 
daughter’s.” 


[ 102 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Cuyler’s hands twitched. He gave no other 
sign. 

“ Anything further? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Wotsirb. “ Hereafter I 
will inform you of possible developments by 
telephone. Central Office men are scattered all 
over the Wall Street district. If any of them 
see me coming here repeatedly they would 
start to find out the reason. Good morning, 
Mr. Cuyler.” 

“ Good morning.” 

The Secret Service man halted for a moment 
at the door. 

“ Don’t be disturbed if I fail to communicate 
with you frequently. Many things may pre- 
vent — but rest assured, we will find the missing 
girl and restore her, sooner or later.” 

Then he was gone. 


[ 103 ] 


IX 


WoTSiRB-left the building by a door opening 
to a side street, entered a waiting cab, and 
drove rapidly northward. An hour later he 
was seated at table in an uptown club facing 
an unobtrusive gentleman with white moustache 
and general air of distinction, who enjoyed a 
life of large leisure. 

“And what brings you here at this season, 
my dear confrere? ” the gentleman asked, his 
eyes smiling benevolently through their rimless 
glasses. 

“ Fact is, Major Hartwell, Washington’s 
a pretty hot place in summer,” returned 
Wotsirb, also smiling. 

“ Perhaps you are interested in the excite- 
ment downtown,” the other went on, holding 
up his cocktail and looking through it with 
keen appreciation. “ The market is behaving 
abominably, isn’t it?” 

“Looks like a possible panic, Major.” 

“Yes. Strange how things come on. By 
[104] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the way, Mr. Wotsirb, has our old friend, the 
General, been in evidence lately?” 

"Why — let me see — I believe he has been 
rather active. You know, I suppose, that he 
has chartered a schooner yacht for a Southern 
cruise? ” 

The other’s face was suddenly alight with 
interest. He spoke sharply. 

“ He has, has he ! ” 

“Yes — this is definite. He’s going to South 
America — on some hunting or exploring expe- 
dition, I judge, from the supplies and arms and 
ammunition being put aboard.” 

“When does he sail?” 

“To-night.” 

“ Good.” The white-moustached gentle- 
man’s leisurely, careless manner was gone. 
“ Now,” he went on briskly, “ what can I do 
for you? ” 

“Who’s back of this raid on Cuyler prop- 
erties?” asked Wotsirb bluntly. 

“ Financial interests in England, France, 
Germany^-I’m not sure which.” 

A waiter approached. Wotsirb dismissed 
him with a gesture. 


[105] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“What’s the reason?” he continued. 

“ You know about Russia’s projected mili- 
tary railway southward to the Persian Gulf?” 
asked Major Hartwell. 

“ Heard it rumoured when over there two 
years ago.” 

“ I remember. Well, if completed that road 
means Russia’s ownership of the Persian Gulf, 
control of the Arabian Sea, and a foothold in 
the Indian Ocean.” 

“ And good-bye to England’s most valued 
Eastern possessions ! ” Wotsirb exclaimed, as 
a light suddenly burst on him. 

“Exactly. It will change the map of the 
world. Cuyler has got the prize of financing 
and constructing that military highway — got 
it in the face of all the money interests of 
Europe, which were fighting for it. But he 
proved too much for them.” 

“And now?” 

“ And now the most important of those for- 
eign interests have combined. They are going 
to smash Cuyler, and when his house goes to 
pieces, they will step in and carry through the 
vast undertaking.” 


[106] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Where does England come in?” 

“ She will insist — through her financiers, of 
course — that Russia abandon the route to the 
Persian Gulf, and deflect it eastward through 
Siberia and Manchuria to the Pacific.” 

u Better to have the Bear swallow China 
now, than to lose India a hundred years hence,” 
Wotsirb commented thoughtfully. “ So that 
accounts for this terrific raid on Cuyler?” 

Major Hartwell nodded. In a moment he 
said: 

“ I suppose you are finding this out for some 
Senator or other who is carrying a lot of Cuy- 
ler securities on margin?” 

“ You’re not far out of the way,” said Wot- 
sirb. “ And this means that I’ve got to leave 
at once and attend to something before the 
market closes . . . Remember, the Gen- 

eral’s schooner is scheduled to sail from Wil- 
mington to-night for those newly discovered 
nitrate beds your friends are after. Good-bye, 
Hartwell. I guess we’ve made an even trade 
this time.” 

“ I guess we have. Good-bye.” 

They shook hands cordially, and the agent 

[ 107] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

of the International police settled back to enjoy 
his salad, while the American Secret Service 
man strode out of the club and down Fifth 
Avenue. 

Hartwell’s disclosure had simplified much 
that had temporarily bothered him. There 
was little doubt that the story was true. Hart- 
well and he frequently gave each other infor- 
mation of great value. 

“ So the bankers of Berlin, Paris, London, 
are going to smash Cuyler — force him to bank- 
ruptcy,” Wotsirb reflected, his mind working 
with lightning rapidity. “ The girl’s abduction 
just at this time may be a coincidence — but I 
doubt it. I wonder who planned that end of 
the job? Somebody who knows that nothing 
else under Heaven could so distract Cuyler and 
overwhelm him until he is half-crazed by anx- 
iety. Once get him in that condition, and he 
might not be able to hold back a panic — for 
when a man’s nerves are gone, he’s all gone.” 

The idea that Eleanor’s abduction was part 
of an international plot did seem hardly prob- 
able; but Wotsirb took no chances. He 
framed a telegram giving an exact description 
[108] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

of the girl, who was to be arrested on general 
charges “ as a suspicious person,” and held 
until he should be communicated with at the 
Sub-Treasury. This message he addressed to 
Secret Service men both on the Atlantic and the 
Pacific Coasts, along the Canadian and the 
Mexican borders, and to agents in every port 
of the world where steamers were due which 
had left New York since July 16. Then, hav- 
ing thrown a net completely over the globe, his 
task was to contract it. 

“ They can’t get her out of the country 
now,” he soliloquised, as he left the telegraph 
office where he had filed the messages, “ and 
if she’s already on the water anywhere she will 
be picked up when they try to land with her. 
It’s up to me to find her somewhere in the 
United States.” 

This would not be difficult under ordinary cir- 
cumstances when he could call on the police of 
the entire country and on all the detective 
agencies to help him. Now, however, that he 
was absolutely forbidden such invaluable as- 
sistance, the task seemed almost hopeless. For 
all he knew, Mortimer Cuyler’s daughter was 
[ 109 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

hidden away in an East Side rookery here in 
New York, or in some lonely farm-house of 
New England, or kept captive in Chicago, 
Pittsburg, Denver — on a Dakota ranch, maybe* 
or in the wild mountainous region of the 
Virginias. 

“ Like as not,” he said to himself, disgusted 
at the situation, “ they’ve got her on board a 
private yacht somewhere off the coast, or on 
the Great Lakes.” And he wondered why he’d 
been such a fool as to undertake the wild-goose 
chase. 

Chance, however, or luck, or fortune — good 
or ill — plays a larger part sometimes than it 
is credited with. As Wotsirb came out of the 
telegraph office later on, he bought an evening 
newspaper — one of the cheap, sensational 
sheets, given over to large headlines and pic- 
tures, which are purchased and looked at by 
hundreds of thousands who never see one of the 
important daily journals. 

Wotsirb stood in the shadow of the tele- 
graph company’s building, carelessly glancing 
over page after page, when suddenly his atten- 
tion was arrested by a large half-tone portrait, 
[no] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

made from a photograph — an excellent like- 
ness of Eleanor Cuyler. Hardly able to believe 
his eyes, he read underneath it the item of so- 
ciety news which the banker had given out to 
reporters at the Metropolis Club, on his return 
from Washington the previous Saturday night. 
This brief announcement that Mortimer Cuy- 
ler’s daughter had gone abroad, was followed 
by a lurid recital of her high social position 
and vast wealth, and the paragraph concluded 
with an accurate description of one of her new 
costumes — “ A marvellous confection in brown 
and white effects, especially designed for Miss 
Cuyler by Bruaine et Cie, Paris and New 
York.” 

That was the costume she had worn the day 
she disappeared! 

A second rapid glance, to make sure there 
was no mistake, and Wotsirb started with all 
speed for the office of the newspaper. 

“ I want to insert a Personal notice, paying 
for special position on the fourth page,” he 
said to the clerk who received advertisements. 
“ Can it get in the next edition?” 

The clerk glanced at a clock. 

[in] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Yes,” he said, “if your copy is ready.” 

Wotsirb seized a slip of paper and wrote 
thereon the following: 

MONEY OFFERED. Gentleman admirer will 
pay liberal sum to person putting him in communica- 
tion with tall, good-looking young lady in brown linen 
suit, white ribbons, white parasol, who left Seventh 
Avenue car about noon, Monday, July 16, entered 
cab with companions and drove westward through 
Long Acre Square. Replies confidential. Address 
M. C., care 264, office of this newspaper. 

“ There ! ” said the Secret Service man, 
“ Somehow I feel in my bones that this will 
bring results.” 

An hour later the Sporting Edition of the 
newspaper issued forth, and swept through the 
city like a flood at high tide. Wotsirb’s “ Per- 
sonal ” was printed on the same page where 
Eleanor’s picture appeared together with the 
“Society Note,”- telling of her absence from 
the city. 

The brief but accurate details of her costume 
had been given to the newspaper by the dress- 

[ 112] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

maker who designed it, and whose name also 
appeared — an excellent advertisement for his 
establishment. The photograph came from a 
limitless number carefully filed in the Art De- 
partment of the newspaper, ready to be used 
at a moment’s notice. 

Fortunately the drunken car conductor did 
not see this newspaper, which was engaged in 
bitter warfare against Tammany, of which he 
was an ardent, enthusiastic, lifelong supporter. 
He would not look at the sheet in question, 
much less buy it. 


[113] 


X 


That Monday afternoon was an afternoon 
of disappointment for Barrett Following 
their call at Cuyler’s office, he and Winthrop 
had luncheon together, and then went to the 
office of the Seventh Avenue car-line to find the 
conductor who had taken Eleanor downtown 
from Fifty-fifth Street a week previous. 

They saw the Assistant Superintendent, who 
referred them to the starter, who in turi*' 
listened to them. 

“Seems to be something funny about the 
case,” he finally remarked. “ You’re the 
second party who’s been here to-day looking for 
that conductor.” 

Barrett and Winthrop exchanged glances. 

“What did the other party look like?” 
asked the painter. 

“ He was about medium height, and not 
very heavy, but had the build of a man in good 
condition for a fight,” the starter replied. 

“ Had a yellowish beard, too, and pink cheeks 
like a girl.” 


[ii4] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Did he find the conductor we’re after?” 
Barrett demanded impetuously. 

“Yep,” said the starter. “Had a long talk 
with him, and paid him money, I reckon, for 
the conductor went off, and come back a while 
later fighting drunk.” 

“Where’s the conductor now?” Winthrop 
interposed. 

“ Dunno. I fired him an hour or so ago.” 

“ And haven’t you got his name or 
address? ” 

“No. He just toddled off somewhere or 
other. Haven’t any idea where you’d find 
him.” 

The two visitors slowly walked away to- 
gether, cudgelling their brains as to what their 
next move should be. At Forty-second Street 
they stopped, and Winthrop, pulling out his 
watch, remarked: 

“ Tom, it’s four o’clock. I’m going back to 
the studio to see Hambidge.” 

“All right, son. Go ahead, and I’ll join 
you in time for dinner. I’m bound for a hotel 
now, and have some errands to do.” 

They parted, Winthrop boarding an uptown 

[ 115] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

car, Barrett turning toward Fifth Avenue, 
where he purchased clothing, brushes, shoes, 
umbrella, and a travelling bag. He had come 
away from Van Studdiford’s place, Bleak 
Rock, so hurriedly, Sunday afternoon, that he 
had not stopped long enough to gather any 
such personal belongings. 

Hardly twenty-four hours had passed since 
he started on the wild ride over the Maine 
roads, back of that blooded mare ; but they had 
been so crowded with events that he felt as if 
a month had gone by. 

“ Now,” he said to himself, as he strode 
into a hotel to engage quarters for an indefi- 
nite sojourn, “ I’ll sit down and write a note 
to Mildred, and another to her mother. It’s 
only common decency . . . Besides,” he re- 
flected, “ I might as well wait here for an hour 
before joining the other fellows. That car 
starter may have sent someone to follow me, 
and I don’t want him to locate the studio. 
Winthrop and Hambidge will stay there until 
I come, anyhow.” 

He went up to his rooms, and sitting before 
a desk quickly penned two brief letters. After 
[n6] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

directing the envelopes and sealing them he sat 
quite still, leaning with one arm on the desk, 
while the picture of Miss Van Studdiford, 
with her nervous vivacity, dissolved from his 
mind, and in its place came firmly, calmly, in- 
delibly, the girl his friend had painted. 

There she was, standing out clearly, so close 
to him that he could almost touch her; so real, 
so truly alive, that he listened for her to speak. 
He knew that her voice, Eleanor Cuyler’s 
voice, would be gentle, restful — it would have 
no shrill undertones, but a dignity, a sweetness, 
all its own. 

He was very, very tired, and hungry; almost 
worn out. He would give anything to bathe, 
and sleep awhile. But not yet ! The girl was 
missing, and must be found. The girl whom 
his friend loved; with whom, perchance, he 
was engaged for marriage. And Barrett had 
sworn to himself that he would find her. Later, 
perhaps, he could sleep, and sleep; but now 
haste must be made. 

Then an idea struck him. He would tele- 
phone the others to dine with him here in the 
hotel; and while they were on the way he 
[ ii 7 \ 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

could have a delicious, refreshing plunge and 
shower. 

Up he sprang from the desk, instantly alert, 
buoyant, full of energy, more than ever deter- 
mined — and rang up Winthrop’s studio. 

Barrett had reserved a table in a secluded 
corner of the roof-garden which surmounted 
the huge hotel, and there he and his friends 
seated themselves. All around them, at scores 
of other tables, were parties, mostly of business 
men unable to leave town this warm evening. 
In order to simulate a feeling of gaiety, an 
orchestra set the air vibrating with a succes- 
sion of numbers from popular musical-plays. 
Under these conditions Barrett and his guests 
were able to talk without being interrupted 
and with no fear of being overheard. As they 
discussed the experiences at the car barn, their 
hearts sank. The one definite source of infor- 
mation had escaped them. 

Finally Hambidge spoke. 

“ If Miss Cuyler has gone away of her own 
volition,” he declared, “ she will sooner or 
later communicate with her family. If she has 
[n8] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

been injured, or is ill, the police or some hos- 
pital will immediately notify her nearest rela- 
tives.” 

“ Therefore ” interposed Winthrop, in- 

quiringly. 

“ Therefore,” the lawyer continued, “ the 
chances all are that she is being detained 
against her will by some person or persons 
unknown, who are preventing her from com- 
municating with her family.” 

“ In other words,” said Barrett, “ in all 
probability Miss Cuyler has been kidnapped — 
abducted from a New York street-car at mid- 
day — and is now kept captive?” 

“ Exactly,” Hambidge replied, “ and the 
first thing is to find the motive for Miss Cuy- 
ler’s abduction; then the person or persons 
back of that motive.” 

“It isn’t common robbery,” Winthrop went 
on, “ for when she left my studio she wore 
almost no jewelry excepting a watch, and two 
or three rings, and a locket.” 

“ Speaking of a locket,” Hambidge re- 
marked, “ I had a curious experience ” 

“ Oh, hang the curious experience ! ” Barrett 

[119] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

broke in. “ Beg your pardon, Bill — I don’t 
mean to be impolite, but let’s stick to this ques- 
tion of the motive. Here the whole day has 
gone by, and we haven’t fairly got started on 
the search ... As Winthrop says, the 
motive wasn’t robbery.” 

“ And it wouldn’t be the worst motive for 
abduction, either,” the lawyer responded, will- 
ing to pass by his friend’s interruption of the 
story he had been about to relate. “ Girls who 
are abducted for that are either recently ar- 
rived immigrants of the peasant class who can- 
not speak the language, or restless, flighty 
young creatures lured from the back country 
towns . . . No, that supposition is impossi- 
ble, thank God.” 

“ Thank God ! ” Winthrop murmured rev- 
erently. 

Barrett said no word, but his forehead and 
face and muscular neck flared a blood red. 
The very suggestion of the worst of all fates 
brought murder to his eyes. 

“ And so,” continued Hambridge, “ we come 
down to the last remaining motive for the 
crime, which is probably ransom in some shape 
[120] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

or kind. That means, also, that the abductors 
will use every care to prevent harm coming to 
Miss Cuyler. Only in the last extremity would 
this be disregarded. It is entirely possible, 
however, that if they found themselves in im- 
minent danger of being captured, they might 
do something desperate.” 

“ So our vigilance must be more than 
doubled ! ” Winthrop exclaimed. “ We must 
find her, but must not let her captors know that 
we are searching?” 

“ Exactly,” the lawyer assented. 

“ The motive for her abduction may be ran- 
som,” Barrett remarked, “ but I hardly think 
so. A man of Mortimer Cuyler’s granite will 
and inexorable purpose would not compound 
a crime.” 

“Even for the sake of Eleanor?” the 
painter ejaculated. 

“ Even for her sake,” the other went on. 
“As I said once before, if Cuyler should pay 
money to have his daughter released and re- 
turned to him — no other woman could go about 
the city of New York in safety.” 

Silence fell on the group. 

[ 121] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

A waiter drew near with coffee and a tray 
of cigars, then noiselessly departed. 

Winthrop roused himself with an effort. 

“ If the motive isn’t money, what can it be ? 
What sort of ransom?” 

“ It is revenge ! ” declared Barrett. 

The lawyer glanced up quickly. 

“ What makes you suspect that? ” he asked. 

“ Absolutely nothing. But it stands to reason 
that Miss Cuyler was stolen for some purpose, 
and that those who carried out the crime had 
planned it most carefully, as well as most auda- 
ciously — always presupposing that she has been 
abducted. Criminals of calibre desperate 
enough to steal her must know as well as we do 
that Mr. Cuyler would never under any cir- 
cumstances submit to blackmail — call it ran- 
som, reward, or what you will.” 

Hambidge nodded thoughtfully and turned 
to the painter. 

“What do you think, Sheldon?” he asked. 

“ I’m no lawyer; only an artist; and I do not 
pretend to be familiar with finance, business — 
with the world of action, as both of you are 
familiar. But I am confident that I know why 
[122] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Eleanor Cuyler was taken from that Seventh 
Avenue car or from wherever she was ab- 
ducted ... It is a case of mistaken 
identity.” 

“By George!” Barrett ejaculated, bringing 
his great fist down on the table with a bang. 
“ I believe you’re right, after all ! ” 

“ I believe I am,” Winthrop returned. 
“ Her abductors were honestly searching for an 
insane patient closely resembling Eleanor, 
whose family had arranged to send her to a 
sanatorium, and who overheard the plans, and 
escaped from home — or some such thing.” 

“ How about it, Billy?” 

“ It could easily happen,” the lawyer replied. 

“ But ” continued Barrett, as another 

perplexing doubt flashed into his mind, “ in 
that case she would be indentified sooner or 
later, when relatives of the girl who is really 
insane called at the sanatorium to see her.” 

“ Perhaps the officials would not want rela- 
tives to see the new patient for weeks or 
months,” Hambidge suggested. 

“ Then our first line of work is cut out for 
us,” Barrett remarked with his habitual de- 
[ 123] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cision. “ We must make inquiries of all the 
sanatoriums within reach of the city — say with- 
in fifty miles, at first; in New York, New 
Jersey, Connecticut, Long Island.” 

“ And yet,” the lawyer went on, “ the sana- 
torium to which she was being taken might be 
located in Illinois, or Michigan, or any other 
State.” 

“ It is getting late,” Winthrop interposed 
wearily. “ I don’t believe we can do anything 
more to-night, excepting to think over the sit- 
uation. . . . My head is in a whirl.” 

The others noted his pale, haggard face, 
and arose from the table. 

“ You’re right,” said Hambidge. “ I’m 
going to my apartment to try and get some 
sleep.” 

“ And I’ll stop at the studio before turning 
in,” the painter added. “ There may be some 
message there.” 

“ I’ll walk along with you, as far as the 
studio building,” Barrett concluded. 

Hambidge left the others at the corner, and 
the two strolled up the broad, quiet avenue 
side by side. Block after block they went, 
[124] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

speaking scarcely a word. The painter was 
in truth nearly exhausted by his three days of 
anxiety; and Barrett saw constantly before him 
the picture of that tall, lithe girl in brown and 
white, whose frank, open eyes looked directly 
into his. 

Before them, and behind, rose row after row 
of tall buildings draped in gloom; endless 
rows. And down the side streets stretched 
others in each direction. Here and there a 
shop window, a restaurant, a saloon, a hotel, 
was ablaze with light; and over all, through 
all, trembled and moaned the thousand sighs 
and stifled wails of a city that tosses restlessly 
throughout the night hours but never slumbers, 
never sleeps. 

Somewhere, thought Barrett, in this vast hu- 
man ant-hill, was she whom his friend loved. 
Somewhere — perhaps in a building around the 
corner; perhaps in an East Side tenement; per- 
haps in a dark hole at the end of a labyrinth 
of tortuous passages in Chinatown — she was 
kept captive. If she could be hidden any- 
where on earth it would be in some secret 
chamber of this abiding place of three million 
[125] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

human beings; not in a small city or village 
where everyone knew everyone else, and where 
each newcomer was discussed and gossiped 
over. And he realised, as did Wotsirb, the 
utter impossibility of carrying on a regular, 
systematic search, as long as they were prohib- 
ited from enlisting the assistance of police or 
private detectives. 

Yet Winthrop might be right after all — it 
might be a case of mistaken identity; Eleanor 
might be confined in an asylum for the insane, 
as he had suggested. Others had been so con- 
fined. In fact, he remembered reading more 
than one deathbed confession which proved 
that men unjustly accused of murder itself had 
been tried, convicted, even executed — innocent 
persons suffering the extreme penalty, while 
the guilty had escaped, because of mistaken 
identity. 

“ I guess your idea is worth threshing out,” 
he said to Winthrop as they paused in front 
of the studio building. “We must get a list 
of public asylums and private sanatoriums the 
first thing to-morrow.” 

“ In one way it would be a great relief to 
[126] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

know she is in an asylum. That would be 
much better than if she were locked up some- 
where, tied fast like a prisoner — even man- 
acled ” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” Barrett broke in. “ Don’t 
get to imagining such things. In all proba- 
bility Miss Cuyler is now undergoing the novel 
experience of living in a private suite of rooms 
in some expensive sanatorium up in Westchester 
County, or out Connecticut way — one of those 
places where the very rich send unbalanced 
members of their families. They have every 
comfort and luxury one can think of, too. 
Elegant furnishings, cheerful surroundings, 
beautiful private parks, the best of servants, 
music in the evenings — frequently concerts by 
noted singers — and long drives through the 
country. It’s not a bad way to spend one’s 
vacation, I can tell you ! ” he concluded with 
assumed cheerfulness. 

“Yes — that’s all right; but suppose she is 
in a public asylum somewhere, dressed in 
stripes and bars, surrounded by gibbering, va- 
cant-eyed creatures, leering at her ” 

“ Don’t ! For God’s sake, Sheldon, don’t 
[ 127] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

get thinking of such horrible things, such im- 
possible things ! Miss Cuyler is safe and well- 
cared for. In a few days the head of the pri- 
vate sanatorium will discover that a mistake 
has been made and she will be back home safe 
and sound. . . . Don’t think I am trying 

to make light of it, old man. It’s about as 
tough a situation as I ever faced. It’s infi- 
nitely harder for her own family, and it must 
be almost unbearable for you. . . . You 

care a good deal for her, don’t you, Win- 
throp? ” 

“ Yes, more than I could care for any other 
woman except the one I hoped to marry.” 

Barrett turned away and looked down the 
street. 

“ Isn’t there — isn’t there some understanding 
■ — even if not a definite engagement, old fel- 
low? Pardon me!” he added quickly, “I 
didn’t mean to pry into your affairs — but her 
picture. ... I was profoundly affected 
from the moment I saw it. . . .” 

It was Winthrop’s turn to be surprised. 

“ No, Tom,” he said quietly, “ there’s noth- 
ing of that kind at all.” 

[128] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Then!” Barrett began; but paused sud- 
denly. . . . “ Good night,” he went on. 

“ I’m going to bed.” 

“Good night — see you at the club for an 
early breakfast.” 

The newspaper containing Wotsirb’s adver- 
tisement, and Eleanor’s portrait, had been pub- 
lished at about five o’clock that afternoon. The 
Secret Service man was hungry and tired, but 
one thing more must be attended to before his 
day’s work should be over. He must inform 
Cuyler of what Major Hartwell had said, and 
put him on his guard. 

A telephone to Johnson brought word that 
the financier probably would leave his office 
before six, and go directly to his town house, 
where at eight o’clock an important meeting 
was to be held. He could see Wotsirb there 
at seven-forty-five. 

The detective arrived on the minute, and 
Cuyler received him in his library — a large 
room with lofty ceiling, on the second floor 
and at the extreme rear of the great house. 
The high walls were lined with shelves and 
[129] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cases of books; placed here and there were half 
a dozen magnificent rugs; two or three massive 
tables, Cuyler’s own personal desk, and a dozen 
chairs half-hidden in the dim expanse of the 
room, completed its contents. 

The banker, standing near a yawning, empty 
fireplace, did not move as Wotsirb appeared. 

“ What has happened?” he said brusquely. 
The strain was telling on him. 

“ I won’t keep you long,” Wotsirb re- 
sponded. “ Do you know what interests are 
back of this raid on your properties?” 

“ I think I do. We have had cables all 
afternoon — our sources of information are 
pretty accurate, you know. . . . Some of 

our foreign competitors are endeavouring to 
get a large railroad project away from us.” 

“ That confirms my own information,” Wot- 
sirb remarked. “ Do you see any connection 
between this business warfare and your daugh- 
ter’s disappearance?” 

Cuyler looked at the opposite wall for a 
moment. 

“No,” he answered finally. “Do you?” 

“ Possibly, but not certainly. There is noth- 

[ 130] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ing those foreign competitors would not at- 
tempt in order to achieve their object; which, 
I take it, is to ruin you, then step in and finance 
that military highway themselves, deflecting it 
from the south to the east — and preserving the 
peace of central Europe. Am I right?” 

“ That is your business to judge.” 

“ I am right ! ” Wotsirb declared. “ Fur- 
thermore, I have reason to think that the ab- 
duction of your daughter may be part of a 
definite plan to so overwhelm you with anxiety 
that you will be forced to neglect the manage- 
ment of your affairs. In which event a panic 
might be brought on and carry your banking 
house down in a crash.” 

The two men faced each other. 

“ Have you thought of that as a possible 
reason for the abduction, Mr. Cuyler?” 

“ It seems very far-fetched.” 

“ It does,” Wotsirb agreed. “ But I wanted 
to suggest it so that you would see the impor- 
tance of throwing yourself wholly into the 
work of stopping this onslaught in the Street. 
If my theory is correct, and the enemy see they 
cannot force you to let go your grip, they will 
[Hi] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

try something else and release your daughter. 
Rest assured, Mr. Cuyler, their agents will not 
hold her a day longer than is absolutely neces- 
sary. Every hour she is in their control in- 
creases the danger that she will be found and 
that they will be captured.’’ 

“You need have no fear as to my financial 
affairs,” the other said grimly. “ My business 
interests will be protected — amply. Your job 
is to find Miss Cuyler.' Do it.” 

As Wotsirb went down the front steps to 
the street he passed three gentlemen coming 
up, two of whom he recognised as Boston 
bankers. On his walk toward Fifth Avenue, 
half a block distant, he met Bloodgood and a 
railway president from Philadelphia. As he 
turned into the avenue a cab passed him con- 
taining two bank presidents who had hurried 
from their summer homes to the city that 
afternoon in response to telegraphic summons. 

Cuyler was preparing to deal back blow for 
blow, and to follow them up with relentless 
energy upon his European assailants. 

The Secret Service man paused as he saw one 
group after another quietly enter the great, 

[132] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

lonely house he had just left, for a long coun- 
cil of war. 

“ I have troubles of my own,” he philoso- 
phised, “ but I wouldn’t carry the strain Cuy- 
ler is under, year in and year out, for all the 
money and all the power in the United States ! ” 


XI 


The following afternoon, Tuesday, Wotsirb 
called at the newspaper office to receive any 
response that might have been sent to his ad- 
vertisement. Several answers awaited him, two 
written on pink note-paper, one on stationery 
of straw colour, and two on blue. He had ex- 
pected such replies as these, and the communi- 
cations were tossed into a waste-basket. 

Another day might bring forth the hoped- 
for result; meantime Wotsirb had much to oc- 
cupy his time. If he should hear from some- 
one who could give him a clue as to Eleanor 
Cuyler’s whereabouts, well and good. On the 
other hand, should the advertisement fail he 
must be ready to move quickly in a different 
direction. In order to be prepared for a sud- 
den move he took a picture of the missing girl 
to a photo-engraving house, ordered a half- 
tone electrotype made therefrom, and twenty 
thousand excellent proofs to be pulled at the 
earliest possible moment. Then he carefully 
[ 134 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

■drafted a circular describing a girl of Eleanor’s 
appearance, but of another name and address, 
who was missing from home; and ordered 
twenty thousand copies to be printed. If he 
heard no news in a day or two he would per- 
suade Cuyler to let him send a copy of the pic- 
ture and one of the circulars to every police- 
justice, coroner, district attorney, poor-master, 
asylum, hospital, police department, workhouse, 
and prison in the United States. He knew 
where he could obtain a list of them, and in 
twenty-four hours the envelopes could be ad- 
dressed by a mailing agency. 

All of Tuesday night he spent at his gymna- 
sium — fighting an intricate game of chess with 
a professional player. That was Wotsirb’s 
one method of keeping in condition for his 
peculiar work, as an athlete would keep in 
training by muscular exercise and proper diet. 
To the Secret Service man the mystery of 
Eleanor Cuyler was simply a problem — noth- 
ing more nor less; a problem which it was his 
business to solve, and solve it he must or lose 
a certain amount of professional prestige, to- 
gether with a larger amount of personal pride. 

[ 135 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

His mind did not concern itself especially with 
the tragic elements in the case; the mental 
anxiety of the father, or Mrs. Hazard’s sleep- 
less fears. As for Winthrop and other friends 
of the missing girl, he scarcely thought of 
them at all, excepting as possible aids in his 
mastery of the game. To be sure his sympa- 
thies were excited somewhat. He hoped that 
no harm would cqme to Miss Cuyler, and he 
hoped soon to find her and restore her to her 
home. But the main thing was to find her — 1 
to solve the problem, to win the game. 

As yet he was not definitely satisfied as to 
the reason for Eleanor’s disappearance; but 
he must determine it somehow or trust to 
chance. And, while ever willing to take ad- 
vantage of chance, yet he never trusted to it. 

On he played, that night, facing his chess- 
board, carefully, logically, sure of his plans, 
but ready to change them instantly; and all the 
while he was subconsciously thinking of the 
other and greater problem on which he was 
engaged. At four o’clock Wednesday morning 
he saw victory ahead, and at five was in his 
hotel sound asleep. 

[136] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

When he called at the newspaper office early 
Wednesday afternoon he found a letter await- 
ing him. The envelope was addressed in awk- 
wardly formed handwriting, and the message 
within was brief. It told him to call at a 
house located in Thirty-sixth Street, a block 
or so west of Broadway, and to ask for Mrs. 
Brown. The note concluded thus: 

“ I can tell the information you want. She was 
here, brown and white, but not when they took her 
away.” 

Half an hour later Wotsirb was ringing the 
bell of an old-fashioned dwelling, in a neigh- 
bourhood at that time having a reputation 
none too savoury. Here and there, in the vicin- 
ity, negroes had moved in, and the new apart- 
ments, not far distant, were already nicknamed 
“ Soubrette Row.” 

A stout, middle-aged woman of frowsy 
appearance answered his ringing of the bell, 
opened the door a few inches, and peered at 
him with distrust in her keen, black eyes. 

“Are you Mrs. Brown?” he asked. 

[ 137 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“I received your answer to my advertise- 
ment,” he went on, showing her the letter. 

For a moment she hesitated, then opened 
wide the door, saying, “ Come in.” 

He followed her through a dark, dirty hall- 
way to a room at the left, once the reception- 
room of some family of distinction, but now 
cluttered with a bed, several chairs, a couple 
of trunks, a sewing machine, and other furni- 
ture. 

“ Excuse the muss,” the woman said, sweep- 
ing a pile of newspapers from a chair, “ and 
set down. This is where I live, myself. All 
the other rooms is took by lodgers.” 

Wotsirb sat down, crossing his knee comfort- 
ably. 

“ Well,” he began, “ what do you know 
about the young lady?” 

The stout woman sat down on a trunk and 
fanned herself. 

“ I don’t want no reward and no trouble,” 
she began nervously. “ I just wanta tell some- 
body, because I never had nothin’ like it hap- 
pen in all the years I been keepin’ a respectable 

[138] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

furnished-room house for gents and married 
couples exclusive.” 

“ Don’t be disturbed, Mrs. Brown. No- 
body is going to do you any harm. I just want 
to get a line on that very charming and at- 
tractive young lady.” 

“ Be you from the Central Office, or a 
Pinkerton?” she asked suddenly. 

“ Neither,” he responded. 

“Then you’re altogether private?” 

He nodded. 

“ Of course,” she went on, “ when I see the 
girl’s picture in the paper a couple of days ago, 
I recognised it in a second, as her who was 
brought here, especially when her brown suit 
and white parasol and gloves was mentioned. 
And I can tell you it give my heart a jump 
when I see also that it was Mort’mer Cuyler’s 
girl — him as is the banker, ain’t he?” 

Wotsirb again nodded, and Mrs. Brown 
continued to fan herself harder and harder. 
After a moment or two she spoke again: 

“ I knew then that somehow I would be 
dragged into it — I do have the worst luck with 
roomers! I knew that a man like him would 
[ 139 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

never let up to his dying day, until he’d gone 
clean to the bottom of the hull thing. I made 
up my mind to go to his office next morning, 
when I happened to see your advertisement, 
and knew of course he had put somebody on 
the job.” 

As she proceeded, the woman grew more 
and more nervous, her voice breaking now and 
then. 

Wotsirb saw his opportunity, and pulled out 
of an inner pocket a memorandum book, two 
or three blank pages of which he studiously 
regarded. Mrs. Brown interrupted him. 

“ I don’t care if you have got a copy of that 
last case! ” she exclaimed. “ I was cleared at 
once, and the district attorney ordered it 
squashed before it even come to trial.” 

“How about the one before that?” asked. 
Wotsirb, closing the memorandum book and 
replacing it in his pocket. 

“It was a conspiracy, that’s what it was — 
a tryin’ to drag me into a game where a couple 
of gents hired rooms and then turned out they 
was dealin’ in green goods.” 

“Just the same, Mrs. Brown, this Eleanor 
[140] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Cuyler case is the third in a comparatively 
short time — and it doesn’t look good for you; 
not at all good.” 

“ I tell you, Sergeant, that’s the reason I 
answered your piece in the paper. I want to 
square myself first off before anything hap- 
pens.” 

Wotsirb stood up, stepped over to the ex- 
cited woman and looked down at her. She 
shrank under his steady, penetrating, silent 
gaze. 

“ There’s just one thing you can do to clear 
yourself,” he said, quietly, “ and that is to 
help me in every possible way. If you join 
hands with me and put me in the way of find- 
ing Miss Cuyler, I’ll promise that no harm will 
come to you. But if you fail — if I don’t find 
her at once — you’ll spend the next twenty 
years behind the bars. You know what abduc- 
tion means so far as being a State’s prison 
offence.” 

“ Abduction ! ” the woman gasped. “ Do 
you mean kidnapping — like?” 

Wotsirb nodded. 

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “It’s 

[ 141] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

worse than burglary or highway robbery — 
worse than any other crime but murder in the 
first degree.” 

Mrs. Brown did not burst into hysterical 
sobbing. The situation was too serious for 
mere outward demonstration. But she was 
frightened; thoroughly terrified. 

“ Now start in and tell all you know,” Wot- 
sirb commanded, resuming his seat, half-clos- 
ing his eyes. And she did so. 

“ It was in the early part of the month,” she 
began, “ that two men and a woman come here 
and engaged rooms back of this one, on the 
ground floor. They was friends. One was a 
priest, the other a professor of some sort and 
his wife. They brought three big leather 
satchels stuffed full of clothes. They come 
about July tenth, and because one was a priest 
I didn’t ask no rent in advance. They went 
out early in the morning and stayed late, the 
two men did. She, the professor’s wife, stayed 
home all day long, keeping in her room, ex- 
cept when she’d run out at noon a few minutes 
for lunch, and then come right back again. 
Once or twice in the mornings when I’d go 
[142] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

to their rooms and offer to tidy up, I’d find 
the beds all made and nothing for me to do. 
She said I needn’t trouble to do the work, and 
never offered to ask me to come in, which I 
thought was odd, especially as every time I 
seen through the door I noticed them leather 
satchels was packed ready to move at a 
moment’s notice.” 

She paused, gulped once or twice, and 
heaved a sigh. 

“ Go on,” said Wotsirb. 

“ Well, things kep’ along this way until a 
week ago Monday, when about noon a cab 
came racing up to the house, and tore off again 
as soon as the professor and the priest 
got out. Walking between ’em was a young 
lady in brown, with white gloves and a white 
parasol. She seemed sick, dazed-like, and 
they had hold of her each side. They helped 
her into the house, took her to the professor’s 
room, and locked the door. I knocked once 
in the afternoon to see if anything was wanted, 
and the priest come out. He said it was all 
right. The young lady was a friend they had 
met across town feeling ill on account of the 
[ 143 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

heat, and they was going to let her rest until 
after sunset. That was all right, of course, 
and seemed natural.” 

“Certainly,” said Wotsirb, encouragingly; 
“and what then?” 

“ About half-past seven or so that night a 
two-horse carriage drove up, and all four hur- 
ried out to it, carrying their satchels, lifted 
her into it, and dashed off afore I could 
stop them. . , . And they never paid a 

cent for them rooms!” she concluded indig- 
nantly. 

“ So that is what made you glad to tell of 
the job? ” 

“No, sir!” Mrs. Brown replied. “What 
scared me, as I looked from a third-story win- 
dow, was what I saw when they got down to 
the curbstone, where the light shined on them. 
I only had one good look, but I took in every- 
thing. The professor’s wife was about as usual, 
except for a veil over her face. But the pro- 
fessor had shaved off his beard, and wore big 
goggles, while the priest had on farmer’s 
clothes, and a white wig and long white 
whiskers ! ” 


[ 144 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“And Miss Cuyler?” 

“ That was worst of all. The pore young 
thing was dressed in a slimpsy black dress, and 
her head was hidden in a big Shaker bonnet. 
She seemed sicker than ever, too, and they 
almost carried her across the sidewalk to the 
carriage. ... I was that scared I hol- 
lered to Abe Laskovitch down the shaft to 
follow and see where they went.” 

“Who is he?” 

“He’s a Jew, an old man, sort of peddles, 
I guess, but he’s sharp as a razor. So he hur- 
ried out, saw the carriage turn into Ninth Ave- 
nue, and on the risk went down the Ninth 
Avenue elevated to Desbrosses Street. He 
said he had an idea they was making for the 
ferry to get out of the city, as soon as he saw 
’em turn down Ninth Avenue. He got to the 
ferry ahead of them, and followed close behind 
while the professor was buying tickets. Then 
he was satisfied and come back.” 

“Where did they buy tickets to?” Wotsirb 
demanded, sitting up, alert and anxious. 

“Abe didn’t say — he told me he just seen 
’em get the tickets. Then he went off, himself, 
[ 145 1 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the next morning, on a trip, and ain’t come 
back yet.” 

“Where is he now? This old Jew peddler, 
I mean? ” 

“ Oh, he’s in Philadelphia, I guess, on a 
regular trip. He sells a lot of stuff to small 
stores there and in Trenton and Newark.” 

“When will he be back here?” 

“ He generally stays away about a month.” 

“ Mrs. Brown, you must start with me for 
Philadelphia at once! We’ll have to get hold 
of that man somehow, even if we walk the 
streets.” 

“ Oh, I can’t do that!” 

“ Yes you can, and you will — or you’ll go 
around to the Tenderloin Station House with 
me in two minutes. . . . Which is it,” 

Wotsirb demanded, stepping towards her, 
“ Philadelphia and freedom, or ten years jn 
Sing Sing? ” 

Then Mrs. Brown did break down and burst 
into wailing; but started nevertheless to put 
brushes and articles of clothing into a small 
handbag. 

They stopped in the station at Jersey City 
[146] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

long enough for Wotsirb to send a telegram, 
and then boarded a train. 

In response to the message a woman met the 
train at the West Philadelphia station — a tall, 
determined woman of about thirty-five years. 
She walked through one car after another 
while they were running into the city proper, 
until she found the Secret Service man. 

“ Hullo, Miss Smith ! ” he said, rising and 
shaking hands; “so you got my message in 
time?” 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ and I hustled right 
out to West Philadelphia to meet the train.” 

“ Mrs. Brown,” Wotsirb continued, turning 
to his travelling companion and speaking in 
low tones, “ this is Miss Smith, one of the 
Secret Service on detached duty. She will stay 
with you day and night until we find the ped- 
dler we’re after.” 

Wotsirb thought the lodging-house keeper 
had told him the truth — but on the other hand 
she might in reality be a confederate of the 
abductors, purposely throwing him off the 
track. 


[ 147 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ No harm will come to you,” he continued 
kindly, “ and Miss Smith will show you every 
consideration, and pay all necessary expenses. 
But she will stay with you every minute until 
that peddler is found, and there is no use in 
trying to avoid her, for she is backed up by 
every policeman in the country, and by the 
Federal Government itself.” 

He paused, and Mrs. Brown whispered: 

“ That’s all right. I’m willin’ to have her 
by me — and what I told you is God’s truth, so 
it is.” 

“ I’m glad to know it,” he responded 
gravely. 

He quietly explained to Miss Smith that 
they were looking for a Jewish peddler, an old 
man, who would be identified by Mrs. Brown. 

“ Don’t let her out of your sight for a 
moment,” he concluded. “ It’s Washington 
business, and the police must not be informed.” 

“ I understand,” said the woman operator. 

Once more Wotsirb turned to Mrs. Brown. 

“ Are you perfectly willing that she should 
stay by you constantly? ” 

“ Yes,” the lodging-house keeper replied. 

[148] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

She glanced up at Miss Smith, who was re- 
garding her with steady blue eyes; unswerv- 
ing, icy-cold, relentless. “ I won’t kick at 
havin’ her along,” she added, “ an’ I won’t 
try to get away, neither — there wouldn’t be no 
use even if I wanted to.” 

The train came to a stop in Broad Street 
Station, and they walked down to the pave- 
ment. 


I J 49 ] 


XII 


Laskovitch, habitually reticent about his busi- 
ness matters, had talked little to Mrs. Brown 
in regard to his Philadelphia customers. She 
knew that he sold neckwear and allied lines 
to small shops, but could recollect the name of 
only one customer, Isaac Bernstein, whose 
store, she thought, was located somewhere in 
Passyunk Avenue. This was about all that 
Wotsirb could find out from her, but it was 
sufficient. Five minutes after arriving in 
Broad Street Station he had located Bernstein’s 
place of business by consulting a City Direc- 
tory, and in company with the two women, 
had started for it. 

The journey across the City of Immense Dis- 
tances was tedious, particularly because slow- 
going horse-cars were still in use; but at last 
it was accomplished, and the Secret Service man 
found himself in front of a stuffy little shop 
filled with all kinds of clothing for men. 
Tipped comfortably back in an armchair, on 
the shaded sidewalk, sat the proprietor thereof 
[ I 5°] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

— coat discarded, waistcoat unbuttoned, cuffs 
turned back. He was smoking a black cigar, 
and perspiration stood in beads on his high 
forehead and fat cheeks. 

“Are you Mr. Bernstein?” the detective 
asked. 

“Yes — what can I do for you?” the other 
replied with a marked accent, briskly rising 
from his chair, and smiling as at a prospective 
customer. 

“ I want to find Abraham Laskovitch. Has 
he been here lately?” 

“ Oh, yes,” Bernstein replied in tones of 
disappointment, resuming his chair; “yes, Abie 
was here only a day or two ago, and sold me 
a fine bill of goods. That’s why I offer all 
these beautiful garments inside at cut-prices — 
at bar-gains ! — to make room for the new 
stock. Come right in and look around! No 
obligation to buy, you understand? Just come 
in and see my artistic goods, as a very special 
favour to me l” 

He had sprung to his feet again, and stood 
by his door, smiling, bowing, urging the 
others to enter. 


[151] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Some time, perhaps, not now. I can’t 
wait. I want to find Laskovitch and put him 
in the way of making a little money before the 
opportunity is gone. Now tell me the names 
of other people in your line that he calls on.” 

Bernstein said he could remember only two 
or three — one away out on the Ridge Road 
and another in North Eighth Street — both so 
far away from his own shop that they could not 
draw any trade from it. As a matter of fact 
Laskovitch sold goods to a little clothing store 
within a stone’s throw of where they stood — 
but this shop was a competitor, and therefore 
must be ignored. 

“That’s good as far as it goes,” Wotsirb 
remarked, noting down the addresses Bernstein 
gave him. “ But I want one thing more. I 
want to know where Laskovitch hangs out 
when staying here in Philadelphia? Where 
he stops, I mean — his hotel?” 

“ Oh, that’s easy,” Bernstein answered. 

“ He stays with an old friend away down at 
Second and Race Streets, three doors from the 
corner. Two-story brick house with wooden 
steps — you can’t miss it, for every other brick 
[152] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

house in Philadelphia has white marble steps.” 
He laughed heartily at his feeble joke, and 
added, u I wasn’t born a native here, you see.” 

“ Evidently,” Wotsirb assented. “ I’m much 
obliged to you, Mr. Bernstein — now let’s be 
going on,” he concluded, turning to Mrs. 
Brown and Miss Smith. 

“ If you should ever want anything in my 

line ” Bernstein called after them; but 

they were stepping into a street-car and heard 
him not. 

Northward along the interminable streets 
the car slowly lumbered, until it arrived at 
Ridge Avenue, where they waited until an- 
other came along, which took them out to their 
destination. This second shop had been visited 
by Laskovitch the day previous. He was not 
coming back for several months. 

Another journey in another slowly moving 
horse-car to Eighth Street, a considerable walk, 
and Wotsirb arrived with his companions at 
the second address Bernstein had given. 

Laskovitch had called here that very day, 
only a couple of hours previous, in fact. He had 
mentioned that it was the last call he intended 
1 153] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

to make in Philadelphia, before going away 
early the next morning. 

There was only one thing to do, and it must 
be done quickly, for evening was almost at 
hand. Wotsirb and the two women must 
hasten to Second and Race Streets and some- 
how locate the object of their search. It was 
a short journey from North Eighth Street, 
compared with the distances they had already 
travelled that afternoon, and on reaching the 
corner a single glance showed Mrs. Brown 
where Laskovitch was staying; for he sat on 
the front steps of a house near by — an old man 
with Semitic features, long greyish beard, and 
shoulders bowed by carrying heavy burdens for 
many years. The three went directly to him, 
and at Wotsirb’s request Mrs. Brown spoke. 

“Good evening, Abraham Laskovitch.” 

The aged Jew glanced quickly up at her. 
Only his beady black eyes showed that he was 
surprised at her unexpected visit. In response 
to her words he mumbled indistinctly, then 
looked down the street, at nothing in particu- 
lar. 

“ I’ve come over here from New York to 
[i54] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

find you,” Mrs. Brown continued. “This gen- 
tleman wants to know the place those parties 
bought tickets to, when they took the sick lady 
from my house to the Desbrosses Street ferry 
two weeks ago.” 

“ It vasn’t two veeks ago,” Laskovitch re- 
plied with a shade of annoyance. “ That vas 
on July sixteen. It was now July tventy-fife.” 

“You’re perfectly correct, Mr. Laskovitch,” 
Wotsirb remarked, “ but the exact number of 
days doesn’t matter. I am a friend of the 
sick lady’s family. I want to know where the 
two men and the woman were taking her — the 
place to which they bought railroad tickets. 
. . . Where was it?” 

“ Der sick lady’s vamily should know vere 
it iss. ... I don’t vant no droubles.” 

“ You won’t have any if you tell me the 
truth.” 

“ I alvays dells it. I vas afraid of no mans. 
I dells anypodys. Der fat mans, he gets dree 
dickets for Erie, Bennsylvania.” 

“Are you sure it was Erie?” 

“ So hel’p me ! ” the old peddler replied 
reverently, lifting his eyes upward. 

[ 155 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Thank you — that’s all I want to know. It 
was about eight o’clock at night when they 
arrived at the Desbrosses Street ferry? ” 

“ Seven-fifty — just.” 

“ Good. I am obliged to you.” 

That was all Wotsirb needed. He would 
hurry uptown and send an operator to Second 
and Race Streets to keep Laskovitch under 
surveillance in case he were trying to deceive 
as to the destination of those who had Eleanor 
in their possession. It would not be necessary 
for Mrs. Brown to stay longer in Philadelphia. 
She could go back to New York that night, 
or the next morning — accompanied by Miss 
Smith. 

These details attended to, Wotsirb went di- 
rectly to the Broad Street Station, and ascer- 
tained that a train would leave for Erie at 
11:25 P. M. after the arrival of an express 
starting from New York at eight o’clock. Un- 
less Laskovitch lied, this was undoubtedly the 
train on which Miss Cuyler had been taken 
away. The question that bothered him was 
whether the conductor in charge of that train 
on the night of July 16 would be in charge 
[156] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

of it now, or whether he had been laid off, 
or transferred to another train. If he had 
been running on it continuously, he should be 
returning from Erie to Philadelphia this night 
instead of going from Philadelphia to Erie; 
but in case he had taken a day off meanwhile, 
he might be travelling out of Philadelphia to- 
night after all. Much depended on finding 
that conductor, and Wotsirb was greatly re- 
lived to ascertain on further inquiry that the 
man in charge of the P. & E. Division train 
July 1 6 would be in charge of it to-night — old 
John Martine, one of the most experienced 
and highly respected employees in the whole 
railway system. Sleeping-cars would be open 
to receive passengers at ten o’clock, when he 
could be seen. 

So far so good. The Secret Service man was 
thoroughly satisfied as to the situation when he 
left the station and walked down Broad Street 
to the old Lafayette Hotel where he dined lei- 
surely and well. Later he wrote a careful, 
succinct statement of the recent developments 
for Mr. Cuyler. According to his custom he 
had refrained from informing the banker con- 
[ i57] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cerning mere speculative clues which might 
mean nothing; but here was something tangible; 
so he told fully of his interview with Mrs. 
Brown, his talk with Laskovitch, and his pros- 
pective journey to Erie. “ I will write or wire 
you to-morrow,” he concluded. Then he mailed 
the letter, and at half-past ten started again for 
the railway station. Nearly an hour remained 
before the train should leave, and he did not 
want to appear anxious. So he leisurely 
walked down to his sleeping-car, placed his 
handbag, umbrella, and hat in the section he 
had reserved and put on a travelling cap. 
Then he stepped out to the platform again, 
lighted a cigar, and carelessly strolled up and 
down several times before speaking to the con- 
ductor. Finally, however, when the big clock 
on the wall pointed to eleven, he stepped up 
to the official. 

“ Going to have a heavy train to-night, Mr. 
Martine? ” 

“ Good evening, sir! ” the conductor replied. 
“ No, not very heavy this season of the year, 
I guess. . . . You haven’t been out with 

us lately, have you ? ” 

[158] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ No,” said Wotsirb, flicking the ashes from 
his cigar, “ but a friend of mine went out with 
you, ten or twelve days ago — a sick lady in 
a Shaker bonnet, travelling with another lady 
and two men. Remember ’em?” 

“Oh, yes, very well,” the conductor re- 
sponded. “ They had tickets through to Erie, 
but got off at Corry, and took a B. N. Y. & P. 
train there down towards Pittsburg.” 

“ Yes, they’re the ones — that’s the lady, I 
mean,” Wotsirb remarked easily. “ Don’t see, 
though, why they bought tickets through to 
Erie when they intended to change trains at 
Corry.” 

“Well, they did, anyhow; and they had a 
hard time making connections with the other 
train at Corry, too, for we were very late — 
held up by a coal wreck earlier in the day. 
Your friends didn’t have a minute to step into 
the station at Corry, either, and buy tickets 
down the other road.” 

“ Oh, they could pay the conductor,” said 
Wotsirb. “ By the way, does he run that other 
train regularly?” 

“Yes; Sperry is his name. It leaves Corry 
[ i59] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

about three-twenty or twenty-two, and he’s 
been on it a good many years.” 

“ Well, I think I’ll go back to the station 
and buy a magazine. I’ll see you later, Mr. 
Martine.” 

“Yes, sir, certainly. You have plenty of 
time.” 

Wotsirb did buy a magazine. Also he ex- 
changed the ticket he had purchased to Erie for 
one which was good only as far as Corry. 
There was no need of unduly arousing further 
remark in the conductor’s mind. 

He would see Sperry at Corry the next day, 
and find out from him at what point Eleanor 
had been taken from his train by the gang 
who had her in their control. 


[ 160 ] 


XIII 


Winthrop and his two friends spent the 
greater part of Tuesday in making a list of 
asylums, and retreats near New York, to any- 
one of which Eleanor might possibly have been 
taken, and the next morning commenced a care- 
ful, systematic search of them. 

Several times the painter telephoned John- 
son, but \yithout receiving any news, and 
Thursday afternoon he took Barrett down to 
Gull Point to see Mrs. Hazard, but it was a 
depressing experience. Eleanor’s aunt had 
aged perceptibly under the strain of anxiety, 
and while she kept up a brave appearance yet 
the men knew how she must be suffering. 

“There is absolutely nothing I can do,” she 
said late that afternoon, as her visitors were 
leaving for the city. “ You and my brother 
can go out in the field and fight and search, 
hopefully, determinedly. But I must stay here, 
day by day, calm before the servants, smiling 
before friends — tossing and trying not to sob 

[161] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

aloud through sleepless nights. It is woman’s 
lot, always; and always has been, and always 
will be — to wait and suffer in silence . . . 

and wait . . . and wait.” 

Her guests drove to the railway station 
without exchanging a word. It was true that 
their very activity in the search had more or 
less prevented them from realising the full 
horror of the situation — the disappearance, 
the probable captivity for ten days, of an inno- 
cent, helpless girl. 

“ Good God ! ” Barrett said to himself as 
he stepped aboard the train, “ it’s awful — 
and it’s almost hopeless. . . . No, by f 

Jingo ! ” he continued, taking a firmer grip on 
himself. “ It’s not hopeless ! We’ll find her 
yet, and before long.” 

Winthrop turned toward him. 

“ Curious dream Mrs. Hazard told us about, 
wasn’t it?” he said, inquiringly. 

“ Curious in a way, but not at all unusual, 
unnatural, I mean,” Barrett responded. 

“She said it was about a week ago she first 
had the dream, didn’t she? And that it had 
recurred twice since then?” 

[162] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Yes, that is the way I understood her; but, 
my dear fellow, don’t place any importance on 
such a phenomenon. Mrs. Hazard is a woman 
past middle age, with no special duties in life 
to divert her mind, and of course she’s been 
worrying over this case until her nerves are 
strung to a high tension.” 

“ But she had the same dream for three 
nights,” Winthrop insisted, “ identical in all 
details — of seeing Eleanor at the open port of 
a steamship or steam yacht, crying to her for 
help as the big vessel rushed away over the 
water.” 

“ I know, I know,” Barrett responded im- 
patiently, “ but you must trust my judgment, 
old man. You remember of course that I 
studied medicine at Harvard and practised for 
a few years, and then went abroad for fur- 
ther study. . . . Nothing but inheriting 

that beastly estate has prevented me from hav- 
ing a professional career worth while, either,” 
he added a little aggressively, for somehow he 
always seemed to resent the fact that through 
no exertion of his own he was a man of large 
wealth. 


[163] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Simply refuse to consider Mrs. Hazard’s 
dream whatever,” he repeated- emphatically. 
“ We sympathise with her to the uttermost, but 
we must resolutely refuse to allow a woman’s 
jangling nerves and breaking heart to influence 
our judgment for one moment, or to affect our 
plans. We must keep cool, Sheldon, and 
clear-headed, and keen-eyed; or we will never 
trace Miss Cuyler.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” the painter re- 
sponded, “ but just the same all of us have 
heard of such dreams that really came true; at 
least that led to something worth while.” 

“ My boy, we’ll deal with actualities first 1 
When every possible, actual condition has been 
examined, then perhaps we can consider the 
questionable stuff dreams are made of. Not 
before.” 

An hour or so afterward they met Ham- 
bidge at the studio, and after reciting expe- 
riences of the day, and agreeing upon plans for 
the following morning, Barrett related the 
story of Mrs. Hazard’s recurring dream. 

u Sheldon seems to be taking it rather seri- 
ously,” he concluded, “ and I want you to tell 
[164] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

him that my view of the matter is the sane, 
sensible one.” 

“ Personally, I shouldn’t place much faith 
in visions of any kind,” the lawyer remarked. 
“ How did Mrs. Hazard say she recognised 
her niece? ” 

“ She didn’t ‘ recognise ’ her,” Barrett an- 
swered somewhat savagely. “ She dreamed 
that she recognised her, which is a very differ- 
ent thing, as a lawyer should know who is 
accustomed to exact details.” 

Hambidge smiled quietly, and, lighting a 
cigar, leaned back comfortably on the broad 
couch. 

“ Anyhow, no matter which way you put 
it,” he remarked indulgently, “ what did Mrs. 
Hazard think she saw? ” 

“ She saw Eleanor’s face at the port-hole ! ” 
Winthrop exclaimed. “ She knew her in- 
stantly, and noticed the locket at her throat 
sparkling in the sunlight.” 

“ The locket at Miss Cuyler’s throat,” said 
Hambidge with sudden access of interest. 
“ Tell me,” he added, “ what that locket is 
like?” 


[165] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Yes,” urged Barrett, “what are its de- 
tails, Sheldon? We can’t make them out in 
your portrait, because they are half-hidden by 
that fluffy thing at her throat.” 

“ Oh, it’s only a curious gold ornament, not 
a locket at all, as we understand the word. 
It is a tahli such as a young Hindu gives the 
girl he is engaged to — a token of betrothal, of 
affection, covered over with strange words 
and figures on one side, and on the other Mrs. 
Hazard had her initials engraved and 
Eleanor’s— ‘ From M. W. H. to E. C.’ 
That’s all . . . What’s the matter, Billy 

* — dropped your cigar?” 

“ Yes,” said Hambidge, stooping and pick- 
ing it up from the rug where it had fallen. 
“ By the way,” he added, puffing more rapidly 
than was his habit, “ when I get this lighted 
again, I’ll tell you that story of my experi- 
ence with a locket which Tom wouldn’t let 
me tell a day or two ago. . . . There, 

now it’s smoking all right again. . . . 
Well, as I was about to say — when you tele- 
graphed me to come on here, Winthrop, I was 
out at Chautauqua where I’d been lecturing. 

[166] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

The message was sent late Saturday night, if 
you remember? And it was delivered before 
daylight Sunday morning.” 

Winthrop nodded. 

“ I got dressed at once, tossed some clothes 
into a suit-case, and hustled to the railway sta- 
tion. Ordinarily I would come back by way 
of Buffalo, but I found that by going in the 
other direction to Corry, I could catch an ex- 
press on the Pennsylvania road running from 
Erie to Philadelphia, and there make quick 
connection for New York.” 

“How long is your story, William? ” Barrett 
inquired with a grin. a It’s nearly seven, now, 
and I’m hungry as a bear.” 

“ Don’t mind him ! ” the painter exclaimed. 
“ Go on, Hambidge ; we’ll stay until midnight 
to hear the denouement.” 

“ I rather think you will,” the lawyer re- 
sponded, with a queer little smile. “You’ve 
got to anyhow. . . . Well, when I reached 

Corry, not long after sunrise, I had to wait a 
while for the express to come along, and after 
a cup of coffee at the only restaurant open, I 
tramped up and down the long wooden plat- 
[ 167] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

form, breathing in the summer air, and count- 
ing the cracks in the boards. I had walked 
over that platform half a dozen times, I sup- 
pose, when my eye caught a shining little ob- 
ject down in a crack, the upper rim of which 
happened to be touched by the sun just at 
that moment. I thought it was nothing but 
a bit of bright tin or the head of a brass tack, 
but for some reason I stooped down and pried 
at it with my knife until I got it out.” 

“ Tra-la-la!” Barrett the practical hummed, 
a little scornfully. 

“ What was it?” Winthrop asked with more 
than his usual politeness. 

“ It was a round object, a disc of gold,” 
Hambidge replied quietly. “ I brushed off the 
dirt, and found it highly polished — it had evi- 
dently been worn around somebody’s throat, 
for a bit of very delicate gold chain was still 
attached to it. One side of the disc,” he con- 
tinued, “ was covered with beautiful Oriental 
tracery. The other bore the initials you have 
just mentioned, Sheldon.” 

Barrett sprang to his feet and faced the law- 
yer. 


[168] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Is this a fairy story you’re telling? ” he de- 
manded, trembling with excitement. “ Have 
you made all this up to get even with me, or 
is it true ! ” 

“ It’s true! ” exclaimed the lawyer. “ Every 
word of it — gospel truth — exactly as I have 
told it ! ” 

“Where’s the locket now?” Winthrop 
asked in bewilderment. 

“Yes, what did you do with it!” Barrett 
roared. 

“ Gave it to the station agent at Corry to 
keep until the owner called for it,” Hambidge 
replied, speaking rapidly. “ Hurry, boys, — 
we can jump the seven-thirty train for Buffalo 
and be in Corry by noon, to-morrow! That’s 
where she was taken from here ! ” 

A minute later three men dashed from the 
studio building and started on a run for Fifty- 
ninth Street, there to catch a crosstown car — 
the quickest route to the Grand Central Station. 

The night express for Buffalo was moving 
when they leaped aboard it. 

They were too much aroused over the sud- 
den change in the situation to eat a comfort- 
[ 169] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

able meal in the dining-car, although they made 
an effort to do so; and soon they gathered 
close in a smoking compartment, where, with a 
railway map spread out on his knees, Hambidge 
explained as well as he could the several roads 
running through Corry, north and south, east 
and west. 

“ The priest and the doctor may have taken 
her to Erie,” he said, “ and there caught a Lake 
Shore train for some Western point; or they 
might have turned eastward on the B. N. Y. 
& P., towards Buffalo, or they could have taken 
the same road southwestward toward Pitts- 
burg.” 

“ Or they might have boarded a train on 
the Erie road and started for almost any- 
where,” Barrett rejoined, looking closely at the 
map. “The main thing, however, is that Miss 
Cuyler dropped the locket on the station plat-v 
form at Corry, which means that sometime in 
the last nine days she was there ! ” 

“ Not necessarily,” Hambidge remarked 
doubtfully. “ The men might have separated 
before reaching Corry. If it is really a case 
of abduction, one of the two could easily have 
[ 170] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

stolen the locket. . . . As a matter of 

caution,” he concluded, “ I shouldn’t place too 
much importance on the fact that I found the 
locket at Corry. For all we know Miss Cuy- 
ler may still be in New York City somewhere.” 

“ Did you ask the station agent at Corry 
anything about the matter when you handed 
him the tahli ? ” Winthrop inquired. 

“ No. He started to say something to me 
as I gave it to him, but just then the train for 
Philadelphia came along, and I had to run 
for it.” 

“ Well,” said Barrett, “ we’ve got a start- 
ing point at last, anyhow, and all we can do is 
to wait until we get hold of that station agent.” 

“ I will send Mr. Cuyler a telegram from 
Poughkeepsie,” Winthrop decided. 

The train they were in roared and swayed 
along in the darkness hour after hour while the 
three men sat there, smoking and thinking, un- 
til long after midnight; when they sought their 
berths. 


[ 171] 


XIV 


They had an hour or more to wait in Buffalo, 
next morning, before taking a train for Corry, 
on the old B. N. Y. & P. railroad, since then 
absorbed and modernised by one of the great 
national transportation systems. At Barrett’s 
suggestion they drove to the nearest good hotel, 
stopping en route only long enough to hurriedly 
purchase fresh linen, underwear, brushes and 
small handbags. ♦ 

While Hambidge was engaging rooms and 
baths, and Winthrop was ordering breakfast 
to be served in thirty minutes, Barrett stepped 
into a sporting goods store near by and pur- 
chased three .44-calibre revolvers, with heavy 
stocks, and long, murderous-looking barrels; 
together with belts, holsters, and ammunition. 

“ It’s just as well to be prepared for con- 
tingencies,” he said later as he handed one to 
each of his friends, “ especially as we’re get- 
ting closer to the trail, and probably have a 
couple of desperadoes to deal with. These 
guns are heavy, and large — but they’ll carry on 
[172] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

an air-line and bore clean through an ordinary 
man. So be careful.” 

Refreshed by a cool shower, a change of 
clothing, and an excellent breakfast, the trio 
drove rapidly to the station and stepped aboard 
a train which, hour after hour, tugged and 
jolted from Buffalo in a southwesterly direc- 
tion. As every dozen miles was covered their 
impatience increased, but, cautioned by Ham- 
bidge not to show anxiety or excitement, they 
leisurely left the train when it arrived at Corry, 
three hours or so later, and followed him to the 
office of the ticket agent. 

“ Good morning,” said the lawyer, stepping 
up to the window. 

“ How d’you do,” the agent responded. 

“You may remember me, perhaps? Last 
Sunday I found a gold locket out on the plat- 
form, early in the morning, and brought it to 
you.” 

“ Oh, yes, I remember now.” 

“ Ever hear anything of the owner? Did 
she come back to claim the locket? ” 

“ Not a word,” said the agent, “ and it’s a 
funny thing, too. I was going to tell you 
[ 173 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

about it at the time, only you had to run for 
your own train.” 

“ I’m not in such a hurry to-day. What was 
it, anyhow?” 

“ Let’s see — you found that locket early of 
Sunday morning, didn’t you?” the railroad 
man began meditatively, leaning his arms on 
the little shelf at the ticket window and set- 
tling himself for a leisurely recital. “Well, 
it was three or four days ahead of that — 
maybe Tuesday or Wednesday, about the mid- 
dle of July, the sixteenth or seventeenth, I dis- 
remember which, that ” 

He was interrupted by a passenger who 
pushed her way to the window, asking half a 
dozen questions about arrival and departure of 
trains. 

Barrett swore under his breath. Winthrop 
glanced uneasily at a clock on the wall. Only 
Hambidge remained calm, undisturbed. 

When the woman had gone away the agent 
began again. 

“ Well, it was about then — I could get the 
exact date by looking up my records— that the 
P. & E. express from Philadelphia pulled in 
[ 174 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

here an hour late, on account of a coal wreck. 
She’s due at 2:25 in the afternoon, and the 
B. N. Y. & P. down the road leaves at 3:22, 
but was held here five minutes so P. & E. pas- 
sengers could jump across the platform and 
make a close connection. It was mighty close, 
too, that day. There was a dozen or so of 
’em, changing cars, and I noticed a party of 
four particularly — two men and two women.” 

“ Was one of the men a priest and another a 
doctor?” Barrett demanded, unable to hold in 
longer. “ And was one of the women a tall 
young lady dressed in brown and white?” 

“No, not at all; nothing of the kind. One 
of the men was smooth-shaven and had dark 
spectacles on, and the other was a stout old 
fellow with white hair and whiskers.” 

“ Interesting — very,” Hambidge remarked 
imperturbably. “Your powers of description 
are admirable, Mr. Agent. And how about 
the two women?” 

“ Thank ye, sir. Well, as I was saying, one 
woman was shorter than medium and some 
hefty, with a veil. The other was taller and 
wore a Quaker bonnet, so I couldn’t see her 
[ 175 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

face at all. She was the sick one that the men 
had to help along. She looked weak, and tot- 
tered-like when she walked.” 

Winthrop and Barrett exchanged quick 
glances of disappointment. They were on the 
wrong track after all! 

Hambidge’s hopes also sank to zero — but he 
did not give up. u Did they catch their train 
on the other road?” he asked, picking up his 
handbag, preparatory to moving away. * 

“Yes, but they didn’t have time to come in 
and buy any tickets,” the agent replied. 
“ Don’t go yet,” he added, “ the funny part of 
my story is pretty close now. . . . Well, 

as I was saying, the B. N. Y. & P. had been 
held five minutes, and the conductor was hol- 
lerin’ ‘ All aboard ! ’ and most everybody was 
aboard, but these two women and two men. The 
men had three big leather satchels that looked 
heavy, and they were trying to hurry the sick 
lady in the big bonnet down the platform, when 
they dropped one of the satchels, and it bust 
wide open, scattering things right and left. 
There was a brown dress trimmed with white, 
and tan-coloured low shoes, and white gloves, 
[176] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

and a white parasol with the handle broke off 
so it fitted into the satchel, and brushes and 
ribbons, and knick-knacks of all kinds you can 
think of. I almost died laughing, for the B. 
N. Y. & P. engineer was clanging his bell, and 
the conductor was holding his watch in his 
hand, and hollering to ’em to hurry — and then 
the satchel busted open, and he lost two min- 
utes more while I helped pick up all those duds 
and jam ’em back into the satchel. 

“ But they got the sick lady on board, after 
a while, and the other woman, too, and all 
them big satchels; and the B. N. Y. & P. pulled 
out nine minutes late, snorting down the road 
mad as a hungry bull pup ! ” 

The agent threw back his head and laughed 
heartily at the scene he had called up. Win- 
throp and his friends joined the hilarious mirth 
with instant tact. 

“Where was it they dropped the satchel?” 
Hambidge asked, when the laughter had sub- 
sided. 

“They dropped it just about where you 
found the gold locket a few days later, out 
on the platform.” 


[ 177 I 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Barrett gently but firmly pushed the lawyer 
aside and took his place at the window. 
“Let’s see the locket?” he suggested. 

The agent stepped across his office to a small 
safe, and drew forth a sealed envelope which 
he opened. 

“ Here it is,” he said, handing the golden 
disc to the New Englander. 

“ Yes, that’s it,” said Winthrop in low tones, 
leaning forward. 

“Do you know them people?” the agent 
' asked in surprise. 

“ We are friends of the sick lady,” said Bar- 
rett, “and we want to take this locket to 
her.” 

“ Dunno as I ought to let anybody but her 
have it,” the agent began. “You see, I’m re- 
sponsible to the company ” 

“ Perfectly right ! ” Barrett assented. “ I 
don’t question that in the slightest. So I am 
going to protect you by handing you this five- 
dollar bill. . . . There. Now, if you 

don’t get the locket back you can be sure it is 
in the hands of the owner. And if the owner 
doesn’t call for it in thirty days — the sick lady, 
[ 178 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

I mean — you are to keep the money for your 
trouble, as a sort of reward.” 

He carefully placed the ornament In his wal- 
let, whereupon Hambidge spoke : “ Where 
does the train go to that they took?” 

“ Oh, she goes down the road through Titus- 
ville and Oil City to Pittsburg.” 

“ What’s the conductor’s name on that 
train?” 

“ Bill Sperry — been running her ever since 
I can remember. He’ll be along here now at 
3.22 if he’s on time.” 

“Thank you,” said Barrett. “We are go- 
ing down to join our friend and give her back 
the locket. Meanwhile we can have some din- 
ner.” 

Two hours and more must elapse before the 
train arrived which was to carry them along the 
banks of Oil Creek toward Pittsburg, and much 
of this was spent in discussing the possible de- 
velopments ahead of them, and in laying plans. 

“ That gang might have taken Eleanor al- 
most anywhere,” said Winthrop, as they were 
returning to the station. “They could have 
left the train at any one of a score of towns 
[ 179 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

down the road here — so what are we going to 
do?” 

“ Leave that to me,” said Hambidge, “ I’ll 
talk to Sperry, the conductor, and the chances 
all are that he would remember the group, espe- 
cially because of the sick lady, and because of 
the additional delay to his train when that 
leather satchel flew open on the platform.” 

“ That’s so,” Barrett agreed. u You go 
ahead, Bill, and Sheldon and I will act as silent 
supporters.” 

“ Then, again,” Hambidge went on, “ the 
conductor would be sure to remember where 
they got off his train because they didn’t have 
time to buy tickets of the agent, here, and paid 
cash fares, I presume.” 

These deductions proved to be true. When 
their train on the B. N. Y. & P. came along 
they got aboard, and Hambidge unhesitatingly 
sought the conductor 

“ Last Sunday,” he began, “ I picked up, 
at tHe Corry station, a valuable gold orna- 
ment belonging to a sick lady, who had trav- 
elled down here with you a few days previous. 
She wore a Shaker bonnet, and was with an- 
[180] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

other woman and two men. Do you remember 
the group? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” the conductor replied in em- 
phatic tones. “That ornament must have 
rolled out of the big handbag when it fell open 
on the platform.” 

“Exactly!” said Hambidge. “That’s just 
the way it happened. And as I was coming 
down here to-day I thought I’d like to look 
them up, and give it back to her. Did they go 
straight through to Pittsburg with you, or did 
they stop off somewhere along the road?” 

“ They got off at Titusville,” the conductor 
replied. 

“At Titusville?” Hambidge repeated, to 
make sure. 

“That’s it. . . . Are you getting off 

there? ” 

“ Yes, take three fares out of this, please,” 
the lawyer added, tendering a bank-note. 

The conductor handed back the change, and 
started down the car, but after a few steps 
returned again. 

“There was another party asking me about 
that same sick lady only yesterday,” he re- 
[181] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

marked. “ This party come the same way they 
did, on the P. & E. from Philadelphia. He 
wanted to know where they had left my train, 
too, same as you do.” 

“ Must have been Mr. Dorkington ! ” Ham- 
bidge rejoined without an instant’s hesitation, 
turning to his companions. 

“ That’s so ! ” Winthrop exclaimed. 

“ I’ll bet it wasn't! ” Barrett contradicted. 
“ I’ll bet it was her Uncle Abner. . . . 

What did the party you speak of look like? ” 

“ Oh, he looked just like a book agent,” 
the conductor responded; “one of them kind 
that sells lives of early Christian Martyrs at 
the front door, and How-to-be-Beautiful books 
to the hired girl at the back door. Had long, 
yellowish hair sort of floating down over his 
eyes, he did, and a yellowish beard.” 

“Pink cheeks?” Barrett demanded. 

The conductor nodded. 

“ There ! ” the New Englander exclaimed 
triumphantly. “ I knew it was her Uncle 
Abner!” 

The conductor passed on, and Winthrop 
shrugged his shoulders. 

[182] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Wotsirb’s got ahead of us again,” he re- 
marked. 

The train jolted and swayed on its way 
through a desolate, sparsely settled country. 
Here and there was a farmhouse, occupied or 
abandoned, as the case may be; here and there 
an abandoned oil-tank or an old pumping sta- 
tion, and at frequent intervals could be seen 
weather-beaten derricks marking the spots 
whence petroleum once had gushed forth in a 
golden flood. 

On the train rocked, and on, swinging 
around sharp curves, grinding up heavy grades, 
stopping now and then at unimportant sta- 
tions — Tryonville, Centreville, Spartansburg, 
Hydetown — and finally, late in the afternoon, 
pulling into Titusville, where the three friends 
disembarked. 

“What’s the best hotel?” Hambidge asked 
a hack-driver. 

u Brunswick — get right in, sir,” the man re- 
plied, holding open the door of his carriage. 

They did so, and rolled away, looking anx- 
iously out of the windows, wondering whether 
Eleanor really were here — whether they had 

[183] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

actually got within reaching distance of her — 
and all because Mrs. Hazard’s dream had re- 
called to Hambidge his experience in acci- 
dentally finding the gold locket on the platform 
at Corry. 

“The first thing to do is to get the lay of 
the land,” Barrett remarked, as they met an 
hour later, free of travel stains and wilted col- 
lars. “ I move we hire a carriage, drive com- 
pletely around the city ” 

“Sort of circumnavigating it?” suggested 
Winthrop. 

“ Yes, that’s the idea. Then right after din- 
ner this evening we can divide the territory 
off into three sections, and to-morrow begin a 
systematic search.” 

“ What excuse can we give for asking a lot 
of questions?” Barrett inquired. 

“ I’ve thought that all out,” the lawyer said. 
“We can call at every house in Titusville by 
saying that we are gathering material for a 
book to be written about the region, with per- 
sonal sketches of the leading citizens. I don’t 
like to employ even subterfuge unless I have 
to, but it would be a harmless deception any- 
[184] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

way, and through it we may get track of Miss 
Cuyler.” 

“ Suggestion seconded, and adopted ! ” Bar- 
rett exclaimed, starting toward the hotel of- 
fice. “ Come along, you two, and I’ll order 
the carriage.” 


[185] 


XV 


While at dinner, a little later, they discussed 
the advisability of finding Wotsirb, who, like 
themselves, had left the B. N. Y. & P. train 
at Titusville the day previous, as they knew 
from having questioned Conductor Sperry. 

“ I haven’t seen or heard of him,” said Win- 
throp, “ since early Sunday morning when he 
came to the studio to photograph Miss Cuyler’s 
portrait.” 

“ It isn’t likely that a man of his ability and 
reputation would think it worth while, or even 
wise, to keep a lot of amateur detectives in- 
formed as to his moves,” Hambidge remarked, 
with a quiet smile. 

“ Just the same,” declared Barrett, “ we have 
traced Miss Cuykr out here alone, with no 
assistance from him. You will of course write 
Mr. Cuyler at once,” he added, turning to 
Winthrop, “ telling him that we have got thus 
far?” 

“ Certainly,” the painter responded. “ I in- 
[186] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tend to send him a note before doing anything 
else.” 

“The question in my mind,” Hambidge 
went on, “ is whether we ought not to look up 
Wotsirb the very first thing; let him know we 
are here on an independent clue, and make sure 
we don’t interfere with any plans he has laid.” 

“ I vote against it ! ” exclaimed the big man 
from New England. “ He’s deliberately let 
us alone, and we can let him alone. I shouldn’t 
wonder if we would discover Miss Cuyler be- 
fore he does.” 

“ What do you think, Sheldon? ” 

“ I agree with your idea. We must remem- 
ber that Mr. Cuyler has placed this whole 
thing in Wotsirb’s hands. We can’t afford to 
run the risk of upsetting his plan whatever it 
is. We must find him first of all.” 

“ And have him tell us to get out of the field 
just as we’re about to succeed!” Barrett 
growled, jabbing his fork into a bit of steak. 

“ If he asks us to leave we’ll have to do it,” 
Hambidge responded. “We couldn’t take the 
responsibility of refusing. The consequences 
might be too serious.” 

[187] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“How?” 

“ Suppose that the gang should discover us 
first — just before we stumbled upon their hid- 
ing place; and in order to escape themselves, 
made sure that Miss Cuyler would tell no tales 
afterward? ” 

This suggestion quieted even Barrett. In- 
voluntarily his hand crept around to his side 
and touched the butt of his big revolver. 

“Very well,” he said, after a pause. “I’ll 
agree to help find Wotsirb first.” 

“ Of course, he may not be here,” Ham- 
bidge continued. “ The gang may. have left 
Titusville an hour after arriving, and he may 
have followed them last evening.” 

“ Let’s see,” Barrett remarked, knitting his 
brows. “ What day was it that you found the 
locket at Corry?” 

“ Last Sunday, July twenty-second.” 

“ And, according to the station agent there, 
they came down on Sperry’s train and reached 
Titusville the previous Tuesday — on July sev- 
enteenth,” Winthrop added. 

“ It is now Friday, July twenty-seventh,” 
said Barrett; “so it was ten days ago that they 
[1S8] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

arrived in Titusville. Much may have hap- 
pened since then— much,” he concluded, shak- 
ing his head. 

u I’d give a good deal to know how Wotsirb 
managed to trace them away out here,” Win- 
throp said, as he rose from the table. “ With 
us, of course, it was the merest accident — Ham- 
bidge finding that locket, I mean.” 

When Wotsirb arrived in Titusville the pre- 
vious afternoon — Thursday — he did not reg- 
ister as a guest at the Brunswick, seeking in- 
stead a smaller hotel, where he engaged an in- 
expensive room. The first thing he did there- 
after was to write two letters, one to Buffalo, 
the other to Pittsburg. The contents were 
identical, and as follows: 

I am engaged on confidential Washington business. 
Hold three in readiness day and night for quick, rough 
work. 

Will wire you later to bring the men with all speed 
to this hotel, where letter of instructions will await 
you in case I am out. 

Charter special engine if necessary. 

[189] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Wotsirb carefully placed these letters in the 
general postoffice, and breathed more easily. 
They would be delivered early the next morn- 
ing, and thenceforth he would have six able, 
powerful men on call, waiting to respond to his 
summons when he should be ready to round up 
the gang who held Miss Cuyler captive. 

So far so good. The next thing was to adopt 
some role which would give him a legitimate 
reason for calling at all sorts of places — drug- 
stores, groceries, cigar-shops, barber-shops, 
police stations, undertakers’ establishments, liv- 
ery stables, and elsewhere. In some of these, 
he reasoned, he would be likely to hear of a 
sick lady in a Shaker bonnet, especially as she 
was accompanied by another woman, an old 
farmer with white hair and bushy beard, and 
a second man, clean shaven, who wore gog- 
gles. 

With Wotsirb thought and action were prac- 
tically simultaneous. Five minutes after de- 
spatching the letters to Buffalo and Pittsburg, 
ordering the assistants to be held on call, he 
climbed the steep stairway leading from the 
main business street of Titusville to the edi- 

[ 190] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

torial rooms of the Morning Herald , and was 
cordially welcomed by the proprietor, who also 
was the editor — a fine, noble little gentleman, 
peace to his ashes I 

u Well, sir, what can I do for you? ” he said 
briskly. 

“ I want a job,” said Wotsirb. “ Struck 
town this afternoon, like the looks of the place, 
and propose to stay here awhile.” 

“What can you do?” 

“ Anything — read copy, handle a stick, 
make-up, run a press. But what I want is an 
outside job as reporter.” 

“ I’m afraid there’s nothing open of that 
kind,” said the proprietor. “ We’ve got a good 
local man.” 

“ You ought to have six,” Wotsirb responded 
with decision. “ The town’s full of live news, 
I can see that. Lots of people in the stores, 
team-loads of country folks on the streets — 
you just give me a chance, and I’ll show you 
what I can do.” 

“What wages do you want?” 

“Never mind wages at first. You let me 
scout around on my own hook a few days. 

[ 191] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Wait until I show you some results, and then 
we can talk wages — if you want to keep me.” 

“ Do you know anybody in Titusville? Got 
any references?” 

“ Haven’t any with me, but I’ll send and get 
them if you decide to keep me after a short 
trial.” 

“ Well, it’s a trifle irregular, but I’ll run the 
risk. You wait around until Thomson comes 
in — he’s the City Editor — and I’ll tell him to 
give you a show.” 

Not long afterward Thomson did come in, 
and the new reporter began his career at once. 
From that hour he was the most industrious 
man employed by the Titusville Morning Her- 
ald. He hustled all the afternoon and until 
after midnight, calling at one store after an- 
other, asking for news items, especially about 
strangers visiting the city, and about queer 
characters concerning whom interesting stories 
might be written. He was especially careful to 
ask clerks in the drug-stores regarding the sick, 
and how they were getting on, although it was 
difficult for him to obtain much information 
concerning them. 


[192] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

It was in this way that his first day in Titus- 
ville passed. By the next morning, Friday, he 
grew anxious, and decided that if he could get 
no definite trace of Miss Cuyler before Mon- 
day, he would return to New York and ask her 
father’s permission to throw broadcast over the 
country those twenty thousand circulars and 
portraits. Should Mortimer Cuyler obstinately 
persist in his refusal to allow such assistance in 
this crisis Wotsirb would simply withdraw 
from the case. He knew, of course, why the 
banker was determined to avoid publicity in 
the matter, but it was now a question of life 
and death, perhaps. In any event Wotsirb 
could not risk having his reputation injured by 
the conditions Cuyler had imposed. They were 
simply impossible; he never would have un- 
dertaken the case at all, with such a millstone 
around his neck, but for the President’s per- 
sonal urging. 

When the Secret Service man arrived in 
Titusville, the first thing he did was to inquire 
at the railway station whether anyone had 
noticed the sick lady and her companions. Ap- 
parently nobody had seen them. None of the 
[ 193 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

hack-drivers had carried them away from the 
station. None of the livery stables in town 
had been called on to transport them anywhere. 
The chances were, he thought, that the abduc- 
tors might have separated on leaving the train, 
the men walking across country in different di- 
rections, the women quietly slipping down side 
streets to the other railway station, there board- 
ing a D. A. V. & P. train, doubling on their 
tracks, and later meeting again at a pre- 
arranged rendezvous, perhaps five hundred 
miles from the oil regions. Why they should 
take all the trouble to do such a crazy thing, 
after a long journey from New York, Wotsirb 
could not imagine. Anything, however, was 
possible, especially to criminals who had a veri- 
table white elephant on their hands. They 
were in control of the most priceless possession 
of the greatest financial power in America. 
They could not set her at liberty, or desert her, 
Wotsirb reasoned, without bringing down on 
their heads swift and terrible punishment from 
those who had employed them to kidnap the 
girl. Kill her, murder her in cold blood, and 
[ 194 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

bury her body — they would not dare; at least 
for the present. 

Another thing that worried the detective was 
the fact that she was a “ sick lady,” so weak 
she could not walk without assistance. What 
the nature of her illness, he did not know. It 
might have been induced by the heat; it might 
result from terrific shock to her nervous sys- 
tem, with a hundred serious complications pos- 
sible; it might be typhoid, or drugs, or slow 
poison. 


[ i95 J 


XVI 


Wotsirb stepped Into his hotel Friday after- 
noon, went to his room and wrote Cuyler, re- 
minding him that his daughter had been miss- 
ing for more than ten days, and that if there 
were no developments in the following forty- 
eight hours he would go to New York and call 
at the banking house Monday morning. 

Then he went to the postoffice, mailed his 
letter, and casually asked the clerk at the stamp 
window whether he had any news for the 
Morning Herald. 

“Not a thing,” said the clerk, “but why 
don’t you ask old Bill Tyson there? He’s just 
come in from Pleasantville. ... It ain’t 
a very lively place, but perhaps they do have 
some news to talk about, once a year or so. 
Hey, Bill,” he concluded, “ this gentleman’s a 
reporter for the Morning Herald , and wants 
to see you.” 

As the facetious clerk concluded, Wotsirb 
turned around and saw, standing across the 
[196] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyh\ 

postoffice, a tall, elderly man who looked like 
a farmer. 

“ I don’t know a thing to tell ye,” the 
stranger remarked, cheerfully, “and I hain’t 
got time to stop anyhow. I’m on the way 
home for supper.” 

“Where do you live?” the reporter in- 
quired. 

“ Out Pleasantville way, between there an’ 
Pithole. . . . Ever hear o’ Pithole?” 

“ I remember that somebody spoke of the 
place — deserted city, isn’t it?” 

“You bet it is! Deserted root and branch. 
I c’d tell you a lot of intrusting things about 
it if I had time,” he added as they walked out 
to where his wagon stood. 

“ Well, Vve got time, lots of it,” said Wot- 
sirb, “ and I’d like to go along with you part 
way.” 

“ Jump in,” the farmer rejoined. 

The other did so, and the horses started off 
briskly, as they were headed toward home. 
Down Main Street they went, to the city limits, 
and then over a jolting plank road, the farmer 
talking of oil prices and production, the condi- 
[ 197 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tion of the crops, the strike in the anthracite 
region, and the state of the political campaign. 
It was not until they were at the foot of a long, 
steep hill, when the horses slowed down, that 
Wotsirb referred to the deserted city. 

“What’s the name of the place?” he said. 

“ Pithole,” the farmer replied. “ Pithole, 
and a good name fer it, too. I can remember, 
back in sixty,” he continued, “ when there was 
nuthin’ there but a few farms ; mostly no good, 
too, on account o’ the soil, and the awful road 
leadin’ to Titusville — which were th’ nearest 
market. 

“ Then, one day, a well was sunk, an’ turned 
out to be a gusher; thousan’s an’ thousan’s o’ 
barrels bustin’ way up into the air, an’ failin’ 
down to the ground like Noah’s flood, hour 
after hour, day an } night. And oil wuth twenty 
dollars a bar’l ! The news travelled like light- 
nin’. In twenty-four hours they was a thousan’ 
people there, buyin’ up little sections o’ those 
farms. In a fortnight there was ten thousand, 
an’ a roarin’, smashin’, money-crazy city 
started. Dozens an’ scores of houses were 
bein’ built day an’ night; saloons, dance-halls, 
[198] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

churches, and a reg’lar theayter was started. 
A railroad was surveyed, dirt banks built up 
to lay tracks on, an’ a deepo located. It was 
‘Hurrah boys!’ for fair. I tell ye! Farms 
wuth six hundred dollars one week sold fer a 
hundred thousan’ the next week, an’ fer a 
million a month later. 

“ Then, all to onct, the oil give out. Sudden 
as a wink every single, blame well went dry! 
The petrolyum supply was exhausted. It was 
like a lightnin’ stroke. The city was busted at 
a single crack, an’ every individual man, 
woman, horse, dog an’ mule picked up an’ 
skipped right out.” 

“ You don’t say so ! ” Wotsirb exclaimed. 

“ Yessir, that’s jest what I mean. An’ from 
that day to this, Pithole has been deserted — 
absolutely deserted. Th’ buildin’s are all 
there, failin’ to ruins year by year, but not a 
soul lives there. Sometimes, when a stranger 
happens to be visitin’ th’ place as a sort of 
curiosity, he’ll see some wanderin’ sheep skurry 
through th’ houses, peekin’ at him from a 
winder, but that’s about all — except birds, an’ 
squirrels, an’ snakes, an’ such like.” 

[ 199 ] 


Tfie Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ I’d like to go there myself, sometime,” 
Wotsirb remarked. “How far away is it?” 

“ Oh, a few miles beyond my farm. . . . 
Come t’ think of it, though, there is a party 
stayin’ there now fer awhile.” 

“Yes? Who is it?” 

“Why, he’s a perfessor from some college, 
Perfessor Simpson. His father was at Pithole 
in th’ old days an’ made a lot of money there. 
Then he told th’ Perfessor about it, an’ he 
come out this summer to sort of study around, 
an’ learn just why all that oil sh’d have give 
out so sudden. He says it’s a most ^trustin’ 
problem in geology.” 

“ I should think it would be ! ” 

“ Besides which,” the farmer garrulously 
continued, waving his hand to acquaintances 
gathered around a store in Pleasantville — 
through which hamlet they were passing — 
“besides which his women has been sick-like, 
an’ he brung her along t’ git some rest an’ 
quiet. ... I reckon she’ll git all she wants 
at Pithole ! ” Tyson concluded with a cheerful 
grin. 

“His wife, you say?” Wotsirb inquired 
[ 200 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

casually, though a sudden thrill swept every 
fibre of his being. 

“ Yes, poor creetur. She’s Quaker or Shaker 
or somethin’ — judgin’ from her dress an’ big 
poke bunnit. I happened to be in th’ railway 
deepo t’ Titusville th’ day they got there, — it 
was last week, Tuesday, — an’ he hired me to 
drive em’ right out to Pithole, soon’s they got 
off th’ cars, which I did — th’ Perfessor hired 
me, I mean. Her father an’ mother are along 
with ’em, too.” 

“ Just where are they staying— in what part 
of Pithole?” 

“ They’re in th’ last house on th’ left-hand 
side of th’ old Main Street, as ye go in; sort 
of campin’ out there. I hauled a lot of things 
for ’em that he got me t’ buy in Titusville th’ 
day after they come here; cot-beds, an’ cups, 
an’ plates, an’ canned goods, an’ flour, an’ so 
on, you know. ... I cal’late they’re here 
fer quite a spell.” 

“Seen ’em lately?” asked Wotsirb. 

“ Seen the old man this arternoon. Said as 
how he or th’ Perfessor was goin’ to Titusville 
later on. He bought th’ white mare an’ the 
[201] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

old buggy from me, a few days ago, and paid 
a darn big price for ’em, too. Yessir! They 
got oceans o’ money, that crowd has! Well,” 
he added, pulling up his horses, “ here’s where 
I live. . . . Wunt ye come in?” 

“ No, I guess I’ll walk back now.” 

“Quite a ways ahead of you. Perhaps, 
though, the Perfessor, or his wife’s father, ’ll 
come along and give ye a lift.” 

“ Perhaps so,” Wotsirb said, stepping down 
from the wagon. “ Good night.” 

The farmer responded in kind, and turned 
up the lane leading to his home, while the de- 
tective started back on foot toward Pleasant- 
ville, miles beyond which lay Titusville. 

At the first turn in the road he paused, won- 
dering whether he had better reveal his identity 
to the man he had just left, gather one or two 
farmers, and at once surround the last house in 
Pithole, and capture the gang. Then he re- 
flected that Bill Tyson might not believe him; 
also that Bill had made considerable money out 
of Miss Cuyler’s captors, and finally that the 
latter might escape from a group of country 
folk. It was not yet dark, although daylight 
[ 202 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

was waning, and perhaps some of the gang 
were not in the house at Pithole. Later on 
they would all be there — at any rate they could 
not well go further, for Tyson had said that 
beyond Pithole lay almost a wilderness. 

No, the thing to do was to push with all 
speed to Titusville, wire his men at Buffalo 
and Pittsburg to come on, and when they 
arrived rush them to the scene. That was the 
only safe way. He would do it. 

On he strode at a rapid pace, past one field 
after another, past woods and hills, and had 
almost reached the village of Pleasantville 
when he heard a vehicle coming behind him. 
Turning around he saw a dilapidated buggy, 
in which sat a smooth-faced young man wearing 
spectacles. He was slenderly built, and looked 
like a student. The horse he was driving was 
white. 

Soon the buggy was alongside, and Wotsirb 
felt the man looking at him. 

“ Good evening,” he said, stepping to one 
side. 

“ Good evening,” the stranger responded. 
“Which way are you bound?” 

[203] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ I’m going back to Titusville. Old Bill 
Tyson gave me quite a drive — all the way out 
to his farm.” 

“Oh, he did?” 

“Yes,” said Wotsirb, looking squarely into 
the pair of spectacled eyes that were gazing 
him through and through. 

“Want a lift?” the other asked suddenly. 

“ Don’t mind if I do,” the detective re- 
sponded, stepping lightly into the buggy. 
“You’re Professor Simpson, aren’t you?” 

Once more the stranger shot a keen, swift 
glance at the tawny-bearded man by his side. 
“ Yes, I am,” he replied. “ I suppose you 
heard that from Tyson, too. What else did he 
tell you? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much. Said you were study- 
ing the lay of land at Pithole, so as to learn 
why the oil gave out there so suddenly at the 
time of the excitement.” 

“Anything more?” 

“ I can’t say he told me anything more ex- 
cept that your wife hasn’t been feeling well, 
and you all brought her there to get rest and 
quiet. Some day when I have time, perhaps a 
[204] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

week from now, I want to look Pithole over. 
I’ve never seen it — but I won’t get a day off 
for the next week anyhow; maybe not for two 
weeks.” 

“ Get up ! ” said the other, striking the white 
mare with his whip. 

They drove on rapidly after that, through 
Pleasantville and down the plank-road. Soon 
the stranger spoke again in lower tones. 

“ Did Mr. Tyson tell you what is really the 
matter with my wife?” 

“ He thought it was a case of nervous pros- 
tration.” 

“ We thought so, at first — but it is some- 
thing more, I’m sorry to say. Unless I am 
much mistaken Mrs. Simpson has developed a 
virulent form of smallpox.” 

He spoke gravely. 

“You don’t mean it!” Wotsirb exclaimed. 

The other nodded. “ I am going now for 
a doctor to find out what ought to be done 
in the matter. You will see the danger of com- 
ing out to Pithole — at least for some time; 
until the period of infection is over.” 

“ Oh, I’m not afraid,” Wotsirb replied 
[205] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

cheerfully. “ I had smallpox myself a few 
years ago — you can’t catch it twice, you know.” 

“ But you might carry it in your clothes to 
other people,” the Professor insisted. “ Per- 
haps you’d better get out of the carriage here, 
before we get to Titusville? ” 

“ It’s only a little distance further; I’ll go on 
with you to the town. If there was any danger 
of having the germs in my clothes they would 
be as full of them now as half an hour later.” 

“ Of course it’s none of my business — but if 
you are seen driving along with me, you will 
be quarantined as soon as it becomes known 
that my wife has smallpox. I presume you will 
be placed under observation for several weeks 
in the pest-house.” 

“Tell you what I’ll do,” Wotsirb replied 
after a few moments. “ I’ll go to the doctor’s 
office with you and ask him if it’s dangerous 
for me to walk around the streets after having 
this drive.” 

The man by his side moved uneasily. 

“ I’m not going there directly,” he responded 
with noticeable hesitation, “ I have several 
errands to do first.” 


[206] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ All right then,” the detective said, regret- 
fully. “ You can put me down here— my 
boarding place is just around the corner.” 

Without further words he stepped out of the 
buggy* which started on again, down Main 
Street. Just where the old vehicle was bound 
for Wotsirb did not know; but he must keep 
it in sight long enough to find out. Fortunately 
a grocery wagon came along just then. He 
hailed the driver and jumped in. 

The buggy did not go near a doctor’s office. 
It turned the first corner and started toward 
the business section of the little city. Evidently 
the young man in spectacles suspected some- 
thing. Here was a time when Wotsirb must 
use his own judgment. Instructions or no in- 
structions, he felt the imperative necessity of 
calling on the Titusville police without the loss 
of a single minute. He sprang from the gro- 
cery wagon and started toward the Mayor’s 
office. 

Then he paused, recalling what Mortimer 
Cuyler had told him — that under no circum- 
stances must a word about his daughter’s dis- 
appearance get to the police or the newspapers. 

[207] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Ciiyler 

The banker’s orders were explicit and peremp- 
tory. Wotsirb was acting under them. The 
whole responsibility lay on Cuyler. 

Yes, he would have to wire for his men and 
wait for them to arrive. By using special 
engines one party or the other ought to be in 
Titusville by ten o’clock. He would arrange 
to have light wagons and fast horses ready to 
start on a moment’s notice. He believed he 
would turn the trick after all, especially as the 
abductors would have to bring Miss Cuyler to 
Titusville in order to get on board a train. If 
they should attempt to escape by going across 
country, over those terrible roads late at night, 
they could not get far before he would be after 
them — there were two men and two women in 
their party, and they had only one old mare and 
a ramshackle buggy. They wouldn’t dare to 
ask Tyson or some other farmer to help them 
escape late at night — any countryman would 
refuse such an extraordinary request and 
promptly notify the nearest constable. Yes, it 
was safe to let the matter rest for a few hours; 
but of course Wotsirb would keep close watch 
of both railway stations — and if the gang 
[208] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

showed up at either, he knew how to act; 
promptly, decisively, effectively. 

He walked rapidly to his hotel, and sent a 
bellboy to the telegraph office with duplicate 
messages; one addressed to Buffalo, the other 
to Pittsburg. 

Then he called at a livery stable and ordered 
two spring wagons to be ready to take some 
gentlemen out to Bill Tyson’s farm when they 
should have arrived in Titusville a few hours 
later. 

When this was done he commenced to walk 
back and forth between the two railroads, 
which were situated some distance apart. Half 
a dozen times he had patrolled his beat, keep- 
ing careful watch on the streets, when he sud- 
denly came face to face with Sheldon Win- 
throp. 

“Hullo, Mr. Wotsirb!” the painter ex- 
claimed, extending his hand. 

Wotsirb did not waste an instant in shaking 
it. Instead, he seized Winthrop’s arm, whirled 
him around and started for his hotel. 

“ Come along! ” he commanded, “ I’m glad 
to find you. There’s quick work ahead.” 

[209] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Hold on a minute,” the other remon- 
strated, speaking rapidly, “ I’ve got two friends 
with me — one of them just stepped into this 
cigar store — we have traced her out this far 
and just arrived to-day.” 

“Bring your friend along, and hurry! 
Where’s the other man?” 

“ I don’t know exactly. We all went out in 
different directions after supper. Hambidge 
and I just happened to meet here. Barrett is 
around town somewhere.” 

The lawyer came out of the shop, and Win- 
throp introduced him. 

“ I’ve got a letter to write,” said Wotsirb. 
“ You two go to Brown’s stable, ask for one 
of the wagons I engaged, and come back at 
once to this hotel. If you see your other 
friend, pick him up. If not we’ll go alone. 
I have located Miss Cuyler. . . . Are you 

armed? ” 

“Yes,” said Hambidge, “and ready for 
trouble!” 

“ Good. I’ll go in here. Drive back as soon 
as possible.” 

They started off for the livery stable, and 
[210] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Wotsirb, entering his hotel, wrote two notes 
identical in language: 

Go at once to Brown’s livery, where carriage and 
horses are waiting. Order driver to take you with 
all possible speed along plank road through Pleasant- 
ville to Pithole, deserted city. 

Surround last house on left hand side of Main 
Street there. If possible bag two men and two 
women — one of whom is ill. 

Fire three shots into air when house is surrounded. 
If I do not respond in thirty seconds, rush on house 
and search, holding everybody you find until I do 
arrive. 

Am starting on ahead of you. 

Wotsirb. 

He handed the letters, properly sealed and 
addressed, to the office clerk, saying, “Some- 
time to-night these will be called for by two 
parties of friends of mine, one coming from 
Buffalo, the other from Pittsburg. I don’t 
know just when they’ll arrive — but be sure to 
deliver the notes as soon as called for.” 

“ Very good, sir,” said the clerk. 

[ 211 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Wotsirb walked rapidly out of the hotel and 
sprang into a light wagon drawn by two spir- 
ited horses which arrived just then. In it were 
Winthrop and Hambidge, besides the driver. 
They had not come across Barrett. 

“ Down Main Street to Pithole,” said the 
detective. 

“ Pithole?” the driver echoed in surprise. 

“ Yes — a lady out there is very ill. It’s a 
case of life and death — we’re going to save her 
if possible. Quick, man ! ” 

The wagon shot off with them into the dark- 
ness of an August night. 


[212] 


XVII 


Hambidge and Winthrop were not able to 
pick up Barrett and bring him along in the 
wagon for a good reason. After supper, ear- 
lier that evening, the painter had written a let- 
ter to Mortimer Cuyler, and then the three left 
the hotel to get acquainted with the city. They 
had already driven completely around its outer 
limits, and had divided it into three parts, one 
of which Hambidge was to search for the 
traces of the missing girl, the second part being 
assigned to Winthrop, and the third to the New 
Englander. Their plan was, first of all, to 
make a general observation that night. After- 
wards, day by day, they would carry out the 
idea suggested by Hambidge: a house-to-house 
inquiry in the role of agents gathering infor- 
mation to be used in a proposed history of the 
locality. This would give them legitimate ex- 
cuse for calling on the occupants of every resi- 
dence in the city, and for asking all manner of 
questions. They were confident that by such 
1 2I 3 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

means they could not fail to find some person 
who had seen Eleanor and her abductors; for 
they now were satisfied in their own minds that 
her capture was not the result of mistaken 
identity. The outlandish disguise she was 
wearing made them sure on that point. 

The young men stood for a moment in front 
of their hotel, agreeing to meet there again 
between half-past eleven o’clock and midnight. 
Then they separated — Winthrop starting to 
examine the northern part of the city, and 
Hambidge the southern and western sections; 
while Barrett turned toward the eastern dis- 
trict, keen, resolute, determined to leave noth- 
ing overlooked, however small or insignificant. 
A chance word with a gardener who cared for 
one of the lawns he was passing might give a 
clue as to Eleanor’s whereabouts; a question 
asked some little child playing on the sidewalk 
might reveal her place of captivity. Anything 
was possible, nothing was impossible, in the 
present situation. One thing was sure, certain, 
not to be denied. Ten days previous to that 
afternoon, Mortimer Cuyler’s daughter had ar- 
rived at Titusville, in control of a gang of des- 

l»4l 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

peradoes. None short of being desperadoes 
would dream of abducting her, of all the young 
women in America. Barrett was still mystified 
as to the reason for this remarkable crime; and 
the more he pondered it the more incompre- 
hensible did it seem. 

Suddenly an entirely new thought struck him, 
with such force that it made him stop on the 
pavement and gasp. 

Were the abductors themselves crazy ? 

“Great Scott !” the New Englander ex- 
claimed half-aloud, as this idea flashed its 
burning way across his mind; “ I shouldn’t 
wonder if they were a group of sure-enough 
maniacs; at least fanatics!” 

For years irresponsible newspapers and sen- 
sational demagogues had held Mortimer Cuy- 
ler up to the scorn and hatred of their follow- 
ers. He had been accused of crushing helpless 
rivals, of starving widows and children, of 
grinding the faces of thousands of workmen in 
mills, mines, factories; of buying legislatures, 
bribing members of the House, and of piling 
up fortunes for Senators who compelled the 
enactment of tariff and other laws which he 

[215] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

dictated. Altogether Cuyler had been painted 
as black as the Devil, and twice as power- 
ful. 

There could be no doubt that weeks, months, 
years, of such ridicule and execration had 
caused hundreds of thousands of ignorant peo- 
ple to regard Cuyler as a menace to the 
Republic; as dangerous in one way as a bomb- 
throwing anarchist would be in another. 

Barrett, with his medical education, and 
special interest in psychology, realised how 
surely unbalanced minds could be affected by 
constant reiteration of such sensational attacks. 
Nothing could be easier to imagine than that 
two or three morbid, weak-minded men and wo- 
men should conceive it their imperative duty to 
carry off Cuyler himself; or, failing in that, to 
make way with his only child and heir so as 
to prevent her from inheriting his fortune and 
the power that went with its administration. 
Crazier things than that had happened, many a 
time. Thousands of innocent persons, in gen- 
erations gone by, had been slaughtered or 
stabbed, drowned or burned alive, by religious 
fanatics who were convinced that by such hor- 
[216] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

rible crimes they were obeying God’s holy 
decrees. 

“ I wonder if Wotsirb has thought of that 
possibility?” Barrett asked himself as he 
walked forward again, realising with added 
force that the Secret Service man must be found 
and communicated with as soon as possible. 
He turned into Main Street, and had come to 
the corner of Pine, when he saw a ramshackle 
buggy drawn by an old white horse approach 
in the gathering dusk. Ordinarily twilight 
would last for an hour or so longer, but black 
clouds heralding a thunder-storm were slowly 
swinging in a great ellipse above the quiet little 
city, and the hot, depressing atmosphere 
seemed to be surcharged with tingling particles. 

As the rickety buggy drew nearer, Barrett 
saw within it a slender, smooth-faced young 
man wearing spectacles, who held the ' reins; 
and on the seat beside him another man, also 
slender but wiry and not so young, whose hair 
and beard were of a tawny yellow. Neither 
paid attention to Barrett or to half a dozen 
others who happened to be passing by on the 
sidewalk; and at the corner the buggy stopped. 

[217] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

For a moment the two men within it seemed 
to be deeply engaged in earnest conversation; 
then he with the tawny beard stepped down to 
the street, but almost immediately hailed a 
grocery wagon following close behind, jumped 
into it, and trotted off after the buggy, which 
had continued on its way. 

“By the great horn spoon !” Barrett ejacu- 
lated. “ There’s Wotsirb ! ” 

He ran forward several steps intending to 
call him, but suddenly stopped. Who was the 
other man in the buggy? Could he possibly 
be one of Eleanor’s captors? Barrett had ex- 
pected to run across the old fellow with white 
beard and white hair who dressed like a 
farmer according to the station agent at Corry, 
and also as described by Conductor Sperry. 
For some reason he had seemed to be in charge 
of the gang who had Eleanor in their control. 
But this slender young man in the buggy cor- 
responded exactly to the other male member of 
the gang, excepting that now he was wear- 
ing ordinary spectacles instead of dark gog- 
gles. 

“ I’ve found Wotsirb, and I’ve almost landed 
[218] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the abductors ! ” Barrett cried aloud in his 
heart, trembling with excitement. 

Then another thought flashed over him. 

Wotsirb had also found the gang , and 
earlier! He had driven from some place into 
the heart of Titusville with one of the men — 
and instead of slapping handcuffs on him, and 
rushing him to a cell, the detective had actually 
let him escape ! 

Could it be possible that Wotsirb was playing 
false with Mortimer Cuyler? 

Winthrop and Hambidge would have 
scouted this idea as simply out of question; but 
Barrett was not so sure. He had taken a vio- 
lent dislike to Wotsirb from the first hour he 
heard of him. His apparent lack of energy 
in refusing to turn an army of assistants loose 
on the case had created suspicion in the mind 
of the New Englander, who was primarily a 
man of action, a man who did things — and 
thought about them afterwards. 

He strained his eyes to follow the two ve- 
hicles, fast disappearing in the darkness. The 
old buggy turned out of Main Street at the next 
corner; the grocery wagon kept straight on. 

[219] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

This confirmed his suspicion. Wotsirb was 
not keeping the other in view. It was up to 
Barrett to do so — he had little concern with 
the detective, and reflected that Hambidge or 
Winthrop might run across him, anyhow, in 
the course of the evening. His business was 
with the slender young man driving that old 
white horse! He was the one to keep under 
observation, for sooner or later he would rejoin 
his companions, among whom, in all probabil- 
ity, was the missing girl. 

Where this smooth-faced, bespectacled fel- 
low was going, Barret did not know; but he 
had turned out of Main Street toward the busi- 
ness section of the city — probably intending to 
call at some of the retail stores. Instead of 
following him, Barrett would take a short cut 
through Pine Street and try to intercept him. 

He turned around and strode on rapidly 
until, coming to one of several thoroughfares 
running parallel with Main Street, he met the 
buggy returning. The young man on the seat 
was leaning forward, belabouring the white 
horse, the dilapidated vehicle swayed from side 
to side, and a cloud of dust swelled after. 
Those who saw it— excepting Barrett — thought 
[220] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

that some person living in the country was hur- 
rying home before the thunder-storm should 
break. 

As a matter of fact, when Wotsirb left him, 
the bespectacled young man had intended to 
stop at a drug-store. But he first stopped at 
the telegraph office and there received a cable 
message which had been held a whole day wait- 
ing to be claimed by the person to whom it was 
addressed. It had been sent from Brussels and 
was worded in a private cipher. 

The smooth-faced man tore it open and as he 
read it he turned pale. With a quick motion 
he put it safely in his pocket and fairly ran out 
to the ramshackle old buggy standing by the 
curb. 

Two minutes later Barrett met him, and 
instantly decided that the smooth-faced man 
had doubled on his trail, and was speeding 
back to the rendezvous of the gang for some 
reason more important than the fear of a sum- 
mer shower. Perhaps Wotsirb had learned of 
the arrival at Titusville of Winthrop and his 
two friends, and had informed the abductors, 
so they could escape! 

There was only one thing to do. Barrett 
[221 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

must follow the buggy at all costs; somehow, 
later on, he would find a way to communicate 
with Sheldon and Bill Hambridge; but not now. 
He must not let that smooth-faced man out of 
his sight for a moment 

The buggy passed him and turned eastward 
into Main Street. He could see it easily, for 
lightning was playing about in the sky, thunder 
was booming, and the old white horse, already 
fatigued by many miles of travel, and worried 
by the noise and flashing of the storm, refused 
to go faster than at a jog-trot By walking 
rapidly, Barrett would be able to keep it in 
view for quite a while, the road leading straight 
ahead. Perhaps another carriage or a wagon 
would overtake him, in which event he could 
go forward faster. 

Beyond the city limits was a long hill. That 
was fortunate, for on a hill almost any man can 
outwalk almost any horse; and by the time he 
was at the summit of the rise Barrett saw the 
buggy less than a hundred feet in front of him. 
Then it disappeared in the darkness. 

Barrett broke into a dog-trot as he saw the 
buggy vanishing, and kept it up for nearly half 
[ 222 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

an hour, when he slowed down to regain breath ; 
also because he saw a group of buildings close 
at hand. 

It cost him little time and less trouble to 
ascertain that he was in Pleasantville. Two or 
three sturdy men were lounging comfortably in 
front of the village store when he arrived, and 
one of them jerked his thumb in the direction 
of an empty chair, saying: 

“ Better set awhile under the awning here, 
and see if the storm blows over. If it don’t, 
you’ll get pretty mackerel wet before you go 
far.” 

“Thanks,” said Barrett, sitting down and 
pulling out a cigar-case. “ Have a smoke? ” 

“ Don’t care if I do,” the first speaker re- 
sponded, and his companions also accepted the 
stranger’s hospitality. 

“ Where’d you come from — Titusville?” 
one of them asked, striking a match on his 
boot. 

“ Yes,” said Barrett. “ I started out for a 
walk without having anywhere in particular to 
walk to. Just came down Main Street, struck 
the plank-road, followed it five or six miles, 
[223] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

I judge, then came up the hill, and ran the rest 
of the way.” 

“ I see you a-comin’ pretty fast. You can 
run some — at first I thought you was trying to 
ketch up with Professor Simpson. He was 
just ahead of you in the old rig Bill Tyson 
sold him last week.” 

“ I saw the buggy, but didn’t know who was 
in it. . . . Professor Simpkins, you say?” 

“No — Simpson. He’s a professor from 
some down-east college or other, I hear, and 
he’s a sort of camping out in one of the empty 
houses at Pithole, a couple of miles or so up 
the road.” 

“What’s he doing there?” asked Barrett. 

“ Oh, he’s studying the ground an’ rocks an’ 
such, trying to learn why oil give out so sudden, 
years ago.” 

In a few sentences the Pleasantville man told 
about the early history of Pithole, and of its 
deserted buildings, in one of which Professor 
Simpson was spending the summer. 

“Is he living there alone?” Barrett asked 
casually, as he stood up and peered at the 
sky. 


[224] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Oh, no ! ” the other responded. “ He’s got 
his father with him, an old feller with white 
beard; and his mother, too, besides his wife. 
She’s sickly, sort of an invalid, I guess, though 
I don’t know rightly just what ails her. Oncet 
or twice when I’ve been down there carryin’ 
milk, or eggs, and stuff from the store here, I 
see her settin’ in an old rockin’ cheer on the 
front porch, with a light grey shawl over her 
shoulders, and a big scoop-bonnet on, an’ her 
hands folded in her lap, an’ her head bent for- 
ward. Never see her face on account of the 
big bonnet, an’ never see her move hardly, ex- 
cept once, when I walked right up to the house 
with a pail o’ milk, and the Professor’s mother 
come out an’ hustled his wife indoors quick as 
she could walk — which wasn’t very quick, she 
stumbled so.” 

“Too bad!” Barrett exclaimed. “Which 
house do they live in? ” 

“The last one on the left side of the road. 
It’s the only one anybody lives in, so they’re 
not bothered much with neighbours.” 

“ Well, I think the storm is going around us 
after all — at least the stars are coming out 
[225] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

again, and I’ll be going along, too. Any bad 
dogs between here and Pithole?” 

“ No — though a mighty bad road. Bill 
Tyson’s got a dog, but he wunt bother ye none, 
only to bark, if he sees you. Probably, how- 
ever, you wunt walk that far?” 

“ Perhaps not. I’ll just keep on until I’ve 
gone far enough and then turn back. . . . 

Good night, gentlemen.” 

“Goodnight,” the others responded; and 
Barrett strode off. 

Here was luck, surely! At last he had found 
Eleanor, and without assistance. He had 
known all along that he would find her— he had 
felt it, somehow, as an impending surety, from 
the first moment he had stood with bared head 
and reverent heart before her portrait in Win- 
throp’s studio. 

As the picture of girlish vitality once more 
swam before him, he suddenly realised that 
now she was weak, feeble, tottering, garbed in 
grotesque, ill-fitting garments; perhaps ill- 
treated. . . . 

He went forward with added speed. 

Just what he should do when he reached the 
[226] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

house where she was kept captive he had not 
determined. But now he must decide without 
delay. First of all, he must not let the abduc- 
tors suspect his presence — or they might drive 
a knife into her, and disappear into the wilder- 
ness. Barrett had no doubt they would do 
murder rather than have her live to tell tales 
which would result in their capture. That, of 
course, must be prevented at all hazards. How 
should he proceed? If he only could get word 
back to Titusville and bring on Winthrop and 
Hambidge he would have no fears as to the 
outcome. They could surround the house, 
rush upon it, break in, and rescue the girl 
before the gang had inkling of their presence. 

Just ahead of him stood a farmhouse. . . . 
It was a doubtful plan, but the only one he 
could think of. He would try it at any rate. 

Over the fence he vaulted, and to the kitchen 
door — the room within was lighted. Two 
quick, determined knocks, and the door was 
opened by an elderly man, smoking a pipe, who 
held a lamp in one hand, a weekly newspaper 
in the other. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Barrett, “ but I 
[227] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

want to send a note back to Titusville to some 
friends of mine. Is there anyone here who 
can take it?” 

The elderly farmer appeared confused. 

“You want to send a note back?” he said. 
“ Don’t you mean you want to go back your* 
self?” 

“ No, I am out on a tramp about the coun- 
try. It’s been a mighty hot day, you know, and 
I thought I’d feel better if I had a good, long 
walk. So I want to send word back to my 
friends who will be waiting up for me.” 

“ Come in,” said the farmer, looking sharply 
at the stranger. “ You don’t look as if you’d 
been drinking.” 

“I haven’t!” Barrett laughed. “I’m as 
sober as a judge, and what I tell you is strictly 
true. I know it’s an unusual favour I am ask- 
ing, but my friends will be worried if I don’t 
get back pretty soon. Besides, I’ll make it 
worth your while. I’ll be glad to pay five 
dollars for the job.” 

“ Well. ... I can’t go myself, I only 
got back from Titusville with the team just be- 
fore supper, and it’s nearly eight miles from 
[228] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

here. But if you say so, I’ll ask Jim to go. 
He can saddle the colt and get there in an hour 
or a little more, I reckon.” 

“What’s your name? I want to tell my 
friends who it is that’s doing this favour for 
me? ” 

“My name? Oh, it’s Tyson — William 
Tyson. Everybody in Titusville ’most knows 
who I am. Now you get the note ready and 
I’ll send Jim out to the barn.” 

Pulling pencil and paper from his pocket, 
Barrett sat down by the kitchen table and 
wrote a note addressed jointly to Winthrop 
and Hambidge, telling them to get horses at 
once and start for Pithole. 

“ The gang is living in the last house on the 
left side of the road,” he added. “Leave the 
team when ^ou reach Pithole and hurry quietly 
down the main street. If you do not meet me 
before reaching that last house, burst into it.” 

The note, sealed and addressed, was handed 
to Jim, and as the latter rode off towards Titus- 
ville, Barrett started in the opposite direction. 


[229] 


XVIII 


The cipher cablegram from Brussels, which 
struck such terror to the heart of that slender, 
bespectacled young man when he received it in 
Titusville, was a direct result — although he did 
not know it — of a series of events planned and 
executed deliberately, remorselessly, by Morti- 
mer Cuyler; who had suddenly reached out and 
seized two hemispheres with a grip of steel that 
Monday night, July 23, following his return 
from Washington — when Wotsirb called at his 
town house voicing the suspicion that foreign 
interests, desperately endeavouring to secure 
the Eastern railway project, mi^ht have had 
something to do with Eleanor’s $‘sappearance. 

As he was leaving the financier’s town house, 
that evening, as has been mentioned, Wotsirb 
passed several groups of gentlemen hurrying 
toward it — Bloodgood, Cuyler’s partner; two 
bankers from Boston; a railroad president 
from Philadelphia; two New York bank presi- 
[230] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

dents; and Morton, the great corporation 
lawyer. 

Cuyler was waiting for them in his library 
on the second floor, to which they were at once 
taken. Entering it they nodded and spoke 
briefly to him, and he to them. It was no time 
for palavering. They were there for business. 

Morton stepped to a long, polished table in 
the middle of the room, pulled back a chair 
and sat down. The others quickly followed 
this example; Cuyler, as was his custom, taking 
his place at one side instead of at the head of 
the board. His keen, piercing eyes swept the 
group — eight able, determined men of extraor- 
dinary power, mental as well as physical — 
men with shoulders and jaws and chests. Faces 
clearcut v alert — men ready to throw themselves 
into a struggle which could have but one end- 
ing; men trained in the technicalities of organi- 
sation, familiar with business, politics, finance, 
statecraft. 

Before they had fairly settled themselves in 
their chairs Cuyler began to speak, his voice 
quiet, calm, but incisive, commanding. 

“ Gentlemen, we are facing a flurry that may 

[231] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

become a crisis. The trouble has its origin 
abroad among interests which are fighting to 
get the Eastern railroad matter away from us. 
In a desperate effort to undermine our credit 
and resources they are trying to bring on a 
panic here in this country. Our business is to 
stop that — to prevent a panic and restore con- 
fidence.” 

For a moment he paused; then added: 

“ The most disquieting feature of the Ameri- 
can situation to-day i$ this strike in the coal 
regions. It has affected the whole country. As 
you are aware, some of the railways are already 
cutting off trains; factories are shut down be- 
cause they cannot obtain fuel for steaming pur- 
poses; thousands of persons are already out of 
work, and the situation is rapidly growing 
worse.” 

Again he paused. 

Bloodgood moved his chair a few inches and 
crossed one knee over the other. 

Morton leaned forward inquiringly. 

“The public is almost hysterical,” Cuyler 
resumed, with increasing emphasis. “ Credits 
are shaken. All over the country the feeling is 
[232] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

gathering force that a general smashup is Im- 
minent. Something must be done, and done 
quickly to check the stampede. ... I un- 
derstand that the anthracite situation is far 
more serious than it appears to be ; that strikers 
are terrorising the mining regions; that a dozen 
murders have been committed, and a hundred 
murderous assaults. ... Is that correct, 
Mr. Rittenhouse? ” 

“ It is — absolutely,” said the Philadelphian, 
whose railroad controlled one of the greatest 
of the anthracite companies. 

Cuyler slowly, softly, but firmly brought one 
of his huge, hairy fists down upon the table. 

“ You must end that strike in two days,” 
he commanded. 

Rittenhouse started in his chair. “ It can’t 
be done!” he declared. 

“ It’s got to be done,” returned Cuyler. 

“ It can’t be done ! ” the other repeated. 
“ More than a hundred thousand men are out 
— they have that whole section of the State in 
their power. You, yourself, have beeen hold- 
ing conference after conference for two weeks, 
trying to bring about a peaceful settlement.” 

[ 233 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Yes, a ‘ peaceful settlement,’ ” Cuyler re- 
peated meaningly. “ And now,” he went on 
with a forcefulness that brooked no parleying, 
“ the time has come for a settlement whether 
peaceful or not ! ” 

He leaned forward slightly and looked Rit- 
tenhouse full in the eyes. 

“This is Monday night,” he said. “You 
have got to end that strike by Wednesday 
night. There is only one thing to be done — 
the Governor of Pennsylvania has got to throw 
his entire National Guard into the disturbed 
territory by Wednesday afternoon. He has 
upwards of ten thousand troops, Mr. Ritten- 
house, and it is up to you to see that in forty- 
eight hours every available man of them — in- 
fantry, cavalry, artillery — is quartered in the 
anthracite region.” 

Rittenhouse rose from his chair, and began 
to walk up and down the library with nervous 
step. 

“ I tell you, Mr. Cuyler, it can’t be done ! 
It can’t be done ! ” he repeated. “ The sheriffs 
of two of the disturbed counties telegraphed 
him yesterday that they were unable to preserve 

[234] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

law and order, and demanded troops, but he 
refused. He’s got to take care of the labour- 
vote; he dare not antagonise it.” 

“Who made him Governor?” Cuyler sud- 
denly demanded. 

“Who made him Governor? Why Hotch- 
ins and Blake, of course.” 

“Who made Hotchins and Blake? ” Cuyler 
demanded still more insistently. 

The Philadelphian vouchsafed no reply. 
None was needed; and Cuyler, changing his 
tone, remarked quietly: 

“It is now eight-thirty, Mr. Rittenhouse. 
You can catch the nine o’clock train for Phila- 
delphia. You will see Hotchins and Blake 
early to-morrow, and tell them I say this strike 
has got to he over by Wednesday night. You 
three can reach Harrisburg by four o’clock to- 
morrow afternoon. By Wednesday the Na- 
tional Guard must be moving toward the scene 
of trouble. . . . Goodnight, Mr. Ritten- 

house.” 

The Philadelphia capitalist nodded to the 
others and quickly left the room. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said Cuyler, turning to 
[ 235 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

those who still sat around the long, broad, pol- 
ished table, “there are a few other matters 
to attend to. You, Mr. Barton, and Mr. 
Cooke/’ he continued, addressing the bankers 
from Boston, “ find business conditions excel- 
lent throughout New England, I understand? 
There is hardly a ripple of this New York 
excitement, which, I take it, you believe to be 
merely temporary and superficial. Everything 
is optimistic; sober, conservative New England 
has confidence in herself and in the country as 
a whole, and looks forward to industrial activ- 
ity, and excellent business, from this time 
forth?” 

“You are wholly correct,” said Barton. 

Cooke nodded his assent, and Cuyler con- 
tinued : 

“ I suggest that you go at once to your hotel, 
gentlemen. My secretary will see that report- 
ers call on you within an hour. To-morrow’s 
newspapers here and in Boston must have 
strong, buoyant interviews. . . . Good 

night, gentlemen.” 

The New England bankers silently with- 
drew. 




[236] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

As they left the room Cuyler turned to his 
partner: 

“ Bloodgood, you’d better take the midnight 
flyer out to Pittsburg. Wire the Senator to 
come on from Chicago and meet you there to- 
morrow evening. He’s at the University Club 
for a day or so — I heard from him this eve- 
ning. Tell the Senator I expect to see spread 
over Wednesday’s newspapers the strongest 
kind of an interview he feels justified in making 
about the prosperity and business confidence of 
the Middle West.” 

When Bloodgood had departed, Cuyler 
glanced at his personal counsel. 

“ Anything further you can think of, 
Morton? ” 

The lawyer shook his head. “ Nothing,” he 
said. 

“And you gentlemen?” Cuyler then added, 
addressing the two New York bank presi- 
dents. 

“ To-morrow, perhaps, not to-night,” re- 
sponded one of them. 

The other made no response, but arose and 
reached for his hat. 

[237] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Til be in my office by nine/’ Cuyler re- 
marked. “ The market must be supported 
with large buying orders. Issue them. Let 
me know when you get downtown. Good 
night, gentlemen.” 


[238] 


XIX 


When the front door had closed after them 
Cuyler called Johnson, who had been waiting 
in a room near by. 

“ The Russian Minister is at Manhattan 
Beach for a week,” he said. “ Go down there 
as quickly as possible. Insist on seeing him 
personally. Say I must have a talk with him 
to-night on a matter of supreme importance — 
and bring him back here with you.” 

The secretary bowed slightly. 

“ It’s just nine,” Cuyler commented, glancing 
at a tall clock in the corner. “ You should be 
back with him by eleven-thirty. That’s all.” 

Johnson left, and the financier stepped across 
his library to a telephone. When “ Central ” 
had answered, a moment later, he said: 

“ Give me Long Distance. I want to talk 
with Lenox, Massachusetts. Call me when you 
get the connection.” 

He hung up the receiver, and paced back and 
forth, across the dim, spacious library, think- 
ing, planning, for he had work ahead of him; 

[239] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

difficult work, delicate work, that would tax 
even his powers. 

The telephone bell interrupted his train of 
thought, and he sat down before it. 

“ Is this Lenox?” he said. “I want the 
summer residence of the British Minister.” 

Two minutes sped by, and again the banker 
spoke. 

“Is this the British Minister’s house?” 

“Yes,” came the response over the wire. 

“ Is he at home? ” 

“ Yes, sir, but he cannot be disturbed.” 

“ I’m sorry, but I have to disturb him. 
. . . Send him word immediately that Mr. 

Mortimer Cuyler must talk with him on the 
telephone.” 

“ Hold the wire, please.? ” 

“Yes,” said Cuyler. 

Three minutes, four, five, went by; and then 
the banker heard a voice that he recognised. 

“ I am Mr. Cuyler,” he responded, his vi- 
brant tones carrying with perfect ease far up 
into Massachusetts. “ A situation of great im- 
portance has arisen. I must see you in New 
York as soon as you can get here.” 

[240] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“Well — I might get down by the end of the 
week, possibly.” 

“ No, sir ! Not the end of the week, or 
to-morrow, but to-night ! ” 

“ Utterly impossible — not to be thought of 
for a moment ! ” the diplomat exclaimed. 
“ We are giving a large dinner, and I left the 
table only because it was you who called me. 
But I couldn’t think of going to New York to- 
night.” 

As Cuyler heard this the veins stood out on 
his forehead, and deep, grim lines appeared 
around his mouth. 

44 Sir George,” he declared, 44 the situation I 
speak of is not personal to you. It is of im- 
portance to the Government you represent — of 
very great importance. There is no such thing 
as an alternative choice in the matter. 

44 In one hour you will find a special train 
waiting for you af your railroad station. You 
should reach New York by two o’clock to-mor- 
row morning. My secretary will meet you at 
the Grand Central Station, and bring you to 
my house. . . ._ Good-bye.” 

He hung up the receiver without waiting for 

[241] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the other to reply, but soon took it down again 
to order a special train sent to Lenox with all 
possible speed. 

This attended to, there was nothing more to 
be done until Johnson should return from Man- 
hattan Beach bringing with him the diplomatic 
representative of the Tsar’s Government, and 
they would not be due for two hours. 

Cuyler had no doubt whatever that the Rus- 
sian Minister would come back with Johnson, 
nor did he question that the British Minister, 
having excused himself to his dinner guests, 
would shortly be starting for the Lenox sta- 
tion to board the special which would bring 
him to New York. He took it as a matter 
of course that his plans would be acquiesced in. 
There were few of experience who dared to 
stand up and dispute his overmastering per- 
sonality. He never talked for publication; he 
never expressed an opinion that could be quoted 
in the Street for or against any enterprise. He 
was a man who “ did things,” in the world of 
finance — that little world standing back of the 
world of commerce and industry, which is liter- 
ally the heart of all modern business. 

[242] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

At the time of Eleanor Cuyler’s disappear- 
ance a small group of private citizens consti- 
tuted this financial heart of the nation. Some 
of them were wholly unknown to the general 
public; almost all of them lived quietly, unos- 
tentatiously, shunning notoriety as much as pos- 
sible. Their names seldom appeared in news- 
papers, but could be found recurring again and 
again on boards of directors in the greatest 
of business enterprises. They were the hand- 
ful of men who made or unmade the presi- 
dents and other high officials of practically all 
the great corporations in the United States, 
and dictated the policy of each. They pos- 
sessed in a literal sense the power of a Napo- 
leon — and knew enough not to use it. 

From the days of Alexander Hamilton and 
Robert Morris down to the present, few men 
have rendered their country greater service 
than those constituting one group after an- 
other of financiers, self-developed from the 
ranks, whose integrity, ability, experience, have 
guided this nation in the most wonderful mate- 
rial development known to history. They have 
been as necessary to the nation as the locomo- 

[243] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tive engineer is to the trainload of passengers 
for whose safety he has assumed responsibility. 

During a considerable period the one great- 
est individual force in American finance was 
Mortimer Cuyler. He had suspected, before 
Wotsirb voiced the suggestion, that there might 
be some connection between his daughter’s dis- 
appearance and the terrific raid, from foreign 
sources, upon his securities ; for which reason his 
determination became the determination of a 
fanatic to throw himself into the struggle, and 
fight, fight, fight, his European enemies until 
they were crushed, gasping, dying; ground to 
powder beneath his heel. And with the full 
approval of the few financiers whose interests 
were linked with his own, he had sprung to the 
attack as quietly, as remorselessly as ever a 
tiger leaped upon its prey. 

Not loud words, or heated brain, or angry 
gestures for Mortimer Cuyler. He moved 
swiftly, silently, and struck hard — again and 
again, from directions never expected, with a 
celerity astonishing, bewildering— all the time 
calm, unruffled, sure of his goal. 

When he telephoned the British Minister, 

[244] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

that night, and ordered a special train for him 
at Lenox, he already had decided upon his 
first superficial moves. There would be other 
attacks direct, unseen, by which he would reach 
the vitals of those conspiring financiers on the 
other side. But, first of all, it was necessary 
to keep American stockholders in his scores of 
great enterprises from throwing hundreds of 
thousands of shares into a crazy, panicky mar- 
ket; from sacrificing their holdings at ruinous 
rates, from practically giving away securities 
which until then had represented, and would 
in future represent, good, sound bases for com- 
fortable incomes, even permanent competen- 
cies. 

Hour after hour Cuyler paced the floor of 
his great, dim, silent library; planning, schem- 
ing, estimating his enemies and their strength, 
marshalling his forces, deciding just where to 
strike, where to withdraw, where finally to leap 
with overwhelming force. 

Ten o’clock went by; eleven; twelve. It 
was nearly one Tuesday morning when a car- 
riage drove rapidly up to his front door and 
stopped. Then, faintly, he heard voices com- 
[2451 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ing up the main staircase, and Johnson, paus- 
ing in the doorway, said: 

“ Mr. Cuyler, the Russian Minister.” 

Cuyler stepped forward as the other en- 
tered — a tall, rugged man of soldierly erect- 
ness, with masses of blond hair brushed from 
his forehead, and a flowing beard. 

“ I thank you for coming, General,” the 
banker said. 

“It is a great pleasure to respond to your 
request. I hope I may be of some service to 
you.” 

Two younger men stood close by the splen- 
did Muscovite — one at his right hand, the 
other directly back of him. 

Cuyler glanced at them inquiringly. 

“ My secretaries,” the Minister explained, 
with a reassuring smile. 

The younger men bowed respectfully, and 
Cuyler acknowledged their salutation. 

“ Mr. Johnson will invite you to await His 
Excellency downstairs,” he said. 

The Minister hesitated. He did not relish 
this idea of being separated from his body- 
guard at one o’clock in the morning, in a 
[246] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

strange, lonely house — even if that house were 
Mortimer Cuyler’s. 

“ Mr. Johnson, you will take His Excel- 
lency’s secretaries downstairs,” said Cuyler, 
with significant emphasis. And at a slight ges- 
ture from the diplomat the three younger men 
withdrew. 

“ Pray, be seated by my desk,” the banker 
continued, indicating a chair. 

He pressed a button, and that part of the 
room was flooded with electric light. 

For a single instant he gave his visitor a 
searching glance. Then, true to his character, 
he plunged at once and directly into his sub- 
ject. Leaning forward a little, and speaking 
with a finality that admitted of no contradic- 
tion, he said: 

“Your Excellency, that military railroad 
cannot be built southward to the Persian 
Gulf.” 

The Russian Minister sat immovable. Not 
so much as the tremor of an eyelid betrayed 
the anxiety he had felt ever since Johnson had 
found him an hour previous. 

“ First of all, Mr. Cuyler,” he remarked 
[ 247 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

easily, “ I must apologise for the delay in re- 
sponding to your call. I left Manhattan Beach 
early this evening, and was on board a yacht 
in the Lower Bay when your secretary found 
me. He had chartered a tug for the search.” 

He paused, but Cuyler said nothing. After 
a moment he added: 

“ Will you permit me to light a cigarette?” 

The banker bowed, still leaning forward, 
tense, insistent. 

In a moment or two a spiral of creamy smoke 
floated from the Minister’s lips, and then he 
spoke again. 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Cuyler, but what was it 
you said just now?” 

“ I said that the projected military railway 
cannot be built southward to the Persian 
Gulf.” 

“ That is,” suggested the Minister, in tones 
of polite regret, “ you find that you yourself 
are unable to build it?” 

“ I mean,” repeated the financier, “ that it 
cannot be built. I will not build it, and you 
cannot get anyone else to undertake it.” 

“Ah?” the other inquired, raising his eye- 
[248] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

brows. “ I am sorry you cannot. We must ar- 
range, then, with Paris or Berlin, and London. 
. . . Do I understand that Cuyler & Com- 
pany definitely withdraws from the project?” 

11 Definitely, and absolutely. Furthermore, 
your Excellency,” Cuyler continued, laying one 
hand firmly on the desk, “no other bankers 
will be allowed to carry out the undertaking.” 

“Ah?” the Muscovite repeated, but this 
time there was a shade of anxiety in his voice. 
“ And may I be permitted to inquire why you 
speak so confidently?” 

“You may — although I may be permitted, 
perhaps, to observe that you know the reasons 
as well as I do. Your Excellency knows that 
Great Britain views that projected railway with 
the greatest apprehension. Your Excellency 
knows she has made representations to your 
Government regarding it, and has also sounded 
the Powers as to their feeling. Your Excel- 
lency knows, furthermore, that completion of 
that railway is viewed with alarm by states of 
Central Europe, and that no financial interests 
in the world save those of America can be ap- 
pealed to in your present emergency. And I 

[249] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

say to you positively, that not one dollar of 
American money will be used to build that 
military highway. . . . Your Excellency 

will see, therefore,’* Cuyler quietly concluded, 
sitting back in his chair, “that my first state- 
ment was correct. . . . The projected rail- 

road to the Persian Gulf cannot be built — by 
anyone” 

The Minister also leaned back in his chair, 
and for a moment looked fixedly at the banker’s 
unmoved countenance. Then he lightly pressed 
a handkerchief to his forehead whereon beads 
of sweat suddenly stood forth. His cheeks 
were red, now, and his neck. His fingers trem- 
bled as he replaced the handkerchief in his 
pocket. 

He remembered to the full what Cuyler had 
suspected— that continuance of his appointment 
as Minister to the United States depended 
upon his success in obtaining American finan- 
ciers to handle that railway project. That was 
the one reason he had been sent to Washing- 
ton. Success in carrying it out meant a long 
future of increasing political preferment, hon- 
our, wealth, high position for himself and his 
[250] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

family. Failure to complete the negotiations 
meant ruin to him and an obscure, ill-paid, mis- 
erable army post a thousand miles from 
Petersburg. 

Suddenly a new idea occurred to him. He 
wondered why he had been such a fool as not 
to think of it before! 

“ Of course,” he remarked with a little smile 
intended to inspire confidence, “ I understand 
that in America you have, sometimes, what are 
called — eh — ‘ Gentlemen’s Agreements ’ ? Not 
necessarily ever to be mentioned, but of value 
to facilitate large undertakings. Now, my 
dear sir, of course, if any of your associates or 
assistants would accept a moderate additional 
commission of say, one or two million roubles, 
I think we could ” 

“His Excellency will please be careful!” 
Cuyler interrupted, rising from his chair, hands 
clenched, head thrown back. For a moment 
they faced each other; not longer, for no liv- 
ing creature could stand before those terrible, 
piercing eyes. 

The foreign diplomat recovered his poise, 
and bowed deeply. 


[251] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ My apologies to Mr. Cuyler ; and my con- 
gratulations to the United States that the hon- 
our of their greatest of financiers is above sus- 
picion,” he said gravely. 

There was another slight pause, and he again 
spoke; this time with true American directness. 

“ What,” he said, “ is the message I shall 
have the honour to forward my Government — 
what is your position in the matter? ” 

“This: the projected road to the Persian 
Gulf cannot be built. Under fair terms Cuy- 
ler & Co. will, however, finance a road east- 
ward through Siberia to some open port on 
the Pacific Coast. Such a plan would quiet 
the uneasiness of Central Europe, preserve pres- 
ent amicable relations with the United States, 
overcome the hostility now spreading through 
England, and restore to Russia the friendship 
and faith of the British Government.” 

“ I understand,” said the Muscovite. “ I 
will endeavour to give you a reply in five days.” 

“ You will give me a reply in five minutes,” 
Cuyler remarked quietly. 

The Minister raised his hands in protest. 
The ruddy tinge fled from face and throat. 
[252] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

An expression of alarm passed over his counte- 
nance. 

“ What you ask, sir, is simply impossible — 
out of question! I could not assume responsi- 
bility fraught with such grave results ! I must 
lay the whole matter before my Government.” 

“ Your Excellency,” Cuyler began, and there 
was a warning note in his voice — “your Ex- 
cellency has thrice represented to me that you 
have full authority to conclude agreements— 
binding contracts — in the matter of this rail- 
way.” 

“ But that was concerning the road as orig- 
inally planned! ” 

“ You are right. The situation has changed. 
You say you cannot officially accept the new 
route to the Pacific — but you certainly can give 
me assurance that you will use your best en- 
deavours to have it adopted by your Govern- 
ment? ” 

“ I can do that, Mr. Cuyler. . . . Sup- 

pose, however, that I fail? Suppose my Gov- 
ernment refuses to adopt the line eastward to 
a Pacific port?” 

“Then,” said Cuyler, with a grim smile, 
[ 253 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ within thirty days American aggressiveness, 
British influence, French capital, and German 
constructive genius will have under way two 
military railways — one running from the Per- 
sian Gulf northward; the other from a port 
on the Japan Sea westward through Manchu- 
ria and Mongolia. These roads will connect 
at a point — to be announced later.” 

His Excellency’s head swam, and he gripped 
the back of a chair to steady himself. He 
saw in such a plan not merely ruin for himself, 
but for ever checked, and effectively, that ex- 
pansion of Russia’s dominions which had been 
the dream, the purpose, of five generations of 
Tsars and their statesmen. 

“ Of course,” he said, hesitatingly, u I see at 
a glance what those proposed railroads would 
mean, and I see as do you, Mr. Cuyler, that 
they are not at all necessary to any of the sev- 
eral interests involved. Therefore, while I can- 
not, without consultation, absolutely promise 
that my Government will agree to your Pacific 
route, yet I can give you my personal assurance 
that there is no doubt about it. What my Gov- 
ernment wants first of all is an outlet to an open 

[254] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

port. It will be perfectly safe for you to go 
ahead on that basis. . . . 

“And now, Mr. Cuyler, if there is no way 
in which I can be of further service, I will bid 
you good night and good wishes.” 

The financier pressed a button twice. His 
secretary reappeared. 

“ Mr. Johnson,” he said, “ His Excellency 
desires to return to Manhattan Beach.” 

Once more Cuyler was alone in his library. 


[ 255 ] 


XX 


A TALL clock across the room gently sounded 
its mellow chimes, and then by a single positive 
stroke announced the time — half-past one. 
Cuyler was almost exhausted. He must have 
rest, for the most difficult part of the night’s 
work was yet to be done; and to win the com- 
ing struggle he would need strength, keen 
vision, poise of mind. The crisis so close at 
hand meant not merely his business supremacy, 
his financial prestige, either increased or shat- 
tered; but it meant far more— the routing of 
his enemies, who, if quickly defeated, would 
order their agents to release his daughter from 
captivity. 

In every move he had made, in every plan 
he had laid, in every word spoken thus far dur- 
ing the brief, furious campaign, one figure, and 
only one, had stood forth radiantly as his guid- 
ing star, as the goal toward which he was work- 
ing so hard, fighting so desperately. For her 
sake, for Eleanor’s safety, he must have rest 
before facing the crucial point. 

[256] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

He lay down on a couch, closed his eyes, de- 
cided to awaken in fifteen minutes, and instantly 
fell into deep sleep. 

It was one-forty-five, exactly, when he roused 
himself, and stepping across the library pressed 
a signal button. In response thereto Johnson 
again hastened upstairs and entered the room. 

“ You will go to the Grand Central Station,” 
said Cuyler, “ and meet a special train bring- 
ing the British Minister from Lenox. The 
train should arrive shortly after two o’clock. 
Take a carriage and drive back with him. I 
will be waiting for you.” 

He was himself again, erect, active, over- 
mastering. 

As Johnson turned to go, he continued: 

n On your way out please send a servant to 
»> 

me. 

A few moments later a man in livery ap- 
peared at the library door. 

“ I am going for a walk around the block,” 
said Cuyler. “ When I return, have ready for 
me some cold chicken, a pitcher of milk, 
graham bread, and sliced peaches.” 

“ Will you have it served here, sir?” 

[ 257 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ In the dining-room,” Cuyler replied. 

The man stood at one side while he left the 
library, went downstairs, and out to the street. 
His step was elastic, he held his head up, and 
filled his lungs with the cool, refreshing air of 
an ideal summer night. It was nearly three 
hours before sunrise, and the stars were shin- 
ing brightly. Down to the corner he went, and 
turned northward in Sixth Avenue, thinking 
of nothing but the exhilaration of his walk. 
Once more he had cast from his mind all of the 
problems with which it had been seething. 
What he wanted, and was getting, was fresh 
air, exercise, and the buoyancy which comes 
with these. Soon he would return home, eat 
his light supper with added zest, and be ready 
for the British Minister. The diplomat, hur- 
riedly called from his own table, would be anx- 
ious, of course, and fatigued by a long journey 
at dead of night. Cuyler’s sense of hospitality 
prompted him to order a repast for Sir George 
also. He would see that one was served — 
after they had finished their interview. 

The banker had returned from his walk, had 
eaten with keen enjoyment, and was on his way 
[ 258 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

to the library when the Minister arrived, with 
the Secretary of his Legation, and Johnson. 
Cuyler heard them enter, and came back down 
the stairs to greet them. He and the Minister 
were old acquaintances. 

“ I thank you heartily, Sir George,” he said, 
“ for responding to my request. Nothing short 
of a critical situation would have made me send 
for you.” 

“ I am fully aware of that, Mr. Cuyler. I 
am glad to be here.” 

The two men, representing — one officially, 
the other unofficially — the most influential peo- 
ples on the face of the earth, cordially shook 
hands; and Cuyler briefly welcomed the Lega- 
tion Secretary. 

“ Possibly Mr. Trevelyan will remain here 
with Mr. Johnson,” he said to the Minister, 
“while you and I go to my library?” 

“ Certainly,” Sir George responded. “ Just 
as you wish, Mr. Cuyler.” 

They went upstairs, and entered that far- 
reaching room of which all but one corner was 
filled with dim, ghostly shadows. Cuyler sat 
in front of his little, old-fashioned desk, which 
[ 259 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

had come down in the family, generation after 
generation, and the diplomat took a chair close 
by — a portly well-groomed man of sixty-odd, 
with snow-white hair, smooth, ruddy face, blue 
eyes keen as an eagle’s. He moved in a lei- 
surely manner; perhaps, Cuyler thought, he was 
tired physically. 

The two men regarded each other in silence. 
At last the Minister spoke. 

“ And how may I serve you?” he asked, a 
genial, kindly smile lighting his face. 

“ Sir George,” Cuyler began, gravely, “ you 
know me well enough to realise that when I 
have anything to say, I say it.” 

“ And always clearly, with admirable tact,” 
the other responded. 

Cuyler did not heed the compliment. In- 
stead he continued, as if uninterrupted: “A 
crisis has come in the affairs of the American 
people.” 

“Hardly that, I hope!” 

“A crisis which may mean more than ordi- 
nary industrial activity; it will mean either very 
great material prosperity — or a period of 
panic.” 


[260] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

11 My Government, sir, would regard such a 
calamity with supreme regret.” 

“ I can well understand it,” Cuyler remarked 
in such a way that the other moved uneasily. 

After a brief silence he spoke again, with- 
out raising his voice, but this time rapidly, 
sharply. 

“ Sir George, if Cuyler & Co. carry through 
the financing and building of that Eastern rail- 
way it will mean activity in business all over the 
United States; iron and copper mines will be 
working at their full capacity; foundries, steel 
mills, lumber mills, car shops, will be running 
day and night; thousands of men will be em- 
ployed in the great timber-tracts; engineers, 
builders, contractors, merchants, will feel the 
impetus. I beg to say with all emphasis that 
the whole United States will be benefited to a 
positive and unprecedented extent.” 

“ It is certainly a matter for national con- 
gratulation,” the Minister responded, “ that 
your banking house has been able to obtain the 
carrying out of this great enterprise.” 

“ As you are further aware,” Cuyler went 
on, “ certain foreign interests are engaged in 
[261] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

a desperate effort to get that enterprise away 
from us.” 

“ Really! ” the diplomat exclaimed. 

“ Sir George ! ” Cuyler returned, his eyes 
narrowing, “ this is no time for fencing, for 
equivocation! You know better than anyone 
else that Continental interests are in a reckless 
fight to wrest that prize from us; that to aid 
their scheme, to make it impossible for us to 
finance the railroad, they are deliberately en- 
gaged in a world-wide conspiracy to smash 
Cuyler & Co. ! ” 

The Minister started to speak, but the finan- 
cier stopped him with a gesture. 

“ Furthermore, Sir George, you are aware 
and I am aware that those conspiring interests 
did not dare to undertake this desperate, despic- 
able war on my banking house, until they had 
a definite understanding that Great Britain 
would at least not interfere with them ! ” 

“ Mr. Cuyler ” 

“ Not yet, Sir George ! Let me finish. You 
know, further, as I do, that one word from 
your Government would stop this onslaught in 
an hour. . . . Now, what do you want?” 

[262] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“I beg pardon?” 

“I repeat,” said Cuyler, leaning forward, 
u what do you want?” 

“Really, this is most surprising — almost in- 
comprehensible. Don’t you think we had bet- 
ter consider the situation a few days, and 
then •” 

“ What do you want? ” Cuyler thundered. 

His eyes were boring into the other man’s 
soul; his jaw was set, his face was almost 
purple. 

For once the British Minister hesitated. 

“ Wh — what do I want ? ” he echoed, trying 
hard not to swallow. 

“ Yes ! ” exclaimed Cuyler. “ This panic in 
America must be stopped. In twenty-four 
hours your Government must withdraw its sup- 
port from those financial interests on the Con- 
tinent. Or ” 

“Or what?” asked Sir George. 

“Or by noon of to-day, every newspaper in 
this country will receive a detailed statement 
of the way your Government has entered into 
a world-wide conspiracy to humble and dis- 
grace the United States.” 

[263] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ My Government ! . . . Mr. Cuyler,” 

the diplomat began, warningly, “ ‘ conspiracy ’ 
is not a pleasant word ! ” 

Cuyler leaned back in his chair, and regarded 
the diplomat steadily. His nostrils dilated and 
contracted. 

Then, suddenly, a change came over him, 
and a kindly light suffused his eyes, as he re- 
peated — this time with all gentleness : u What 
do you want, Sir George? ” 

The Minister cleared his throat before re- 
plying. 

Finally he said: “It may or may not have 
occurred to you and your associates, that the 
building of the proposed railway southward to 
the Persian Gulf may mean grave complications 
in the future. It would enable an unfriendly 
Power — should there be one, which heaven 
forbid ! — to throw troops into a territory which 
British civilisation is trying to develop for the 
peaceful uplifting of mankind. It would also 
enable that possible unfriendly Power to con- 
nect, by steam transportation, with a fleet of 

warships in the Gulf. And that would 
>» 


mean- 


[264] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Cuyler nodded understandingly. 

What is it you want?” he inquired. 

The Minister took a long breath before re- 
plying. 

“My Government” he began; then hesi- 
tated; then continued: “my Government would 
prefer to see that proposed route abandoned, 
and the railroad built in another direction.” 

“Say — eastward, to the Pacific?” Cuyler 
suggested. 

“ Excellent.” 

Cuyler arose, and the diplomat followed his 
example. 

“ By the way, Sir George,” he asked in cas- 
ual tones, “ how soon do you think this raid 
on American securities will be over?” 

“ In forty-eight hours.” 

“ Not sooner? ” 

The Minister shook his head. “ I wish it 
might,” he replied. “ Communication by cable 
is quick — but time is needed for considering 
larger questions and issuing instructions. It 
will take forty-eight hours.” 

“ You may inform your Government, if you 
desire, that the railway will be deflected from 
[265] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the Persian Gulf, and will pass eastward 
through Manchuria to the Pacific. And now, 
Sir George, if you will accompany me down- 
stairs, I would be pleased to have you and 
your Secretary of Legation partake of some 
refreshment.” 

“Not now, Mr. Cuyler, if you will excuse 
me. We will drive directly to my hotel.” 

As the Minister, accompanied by his Secre- 
tary of Legation, and Johnson, quietly left the 
house, Mortimer Cuyler started to pace his 
library back and forth, back and forth, in the 
semi-darkness; his hands clasped behind him, 
his head bowed forward, his face and manner 
expressing such anguish as would have struck 
terror to the minds of his partners and associ- 
ates who, early the previous evening, had gath- 
ered around his table. For now he w r as alone; 
the servants had retired, and he had time to 
think, think, think, of his missing child; to 
wonder where she was, and with whom, and 
how she was being treated. 

Back and forth he paced, back and forth. 
The clock in the corner ticked on, and on, sec- 
[2 66] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ond by second the chimes therein sounding 
again and again as every thirty minutes were 
recorded. 

Just before daybreak a light breeze wan- 
dered in through the open windows, gently 
moving the filmy curtains, and he sat down at 
the desk. From a drawer he took a morocco 
case, opening it with a tiny key of gold; and 
gazed long at three miniatures within, exqui- 
sitely executed. One was of his wife, painted 
just before their marriage. The second was 
another portrait of her, three years later, hold- 
ing on her arm a laughing baby. The third 
was Eleanor at the age of twenty, full blown 
with girlish beauty. Between the first and the 
third there was no perceptible difference; one 
might have been a replica of the other. 

Moment by moment Mortimer Cuyler sat 
there, holding them in his hand; gazing, suf- 
fering, almost despairing, until a shudder 
passed over his great body, and he leaned for- 
ward on the table, his face hidden in his arms. 


[267] 


XXI 


When financial America, industrial America, 
commercial America, seized its newspapers 
early that Tuesday morning, a few hours after 
the last of those conferences at Cuyler’s house, 
it met with a surprise. The serious situation in 
Wall Street was duly set forth as it had been 
set forth with increasing intensity for three 
days. But alongside the heavy black headlines 
on the front page devoted to these develop- 
ments and to the great strike in the anthracite 
region, were other headlines, just as black, just 
as prominent, announcing the surprising opti- 
mism of New England, her confidence that the 
flurry would soon be over, that the danger of 
panic was past, that a steady business revival 
was setting in — all of which views were voiced 
by two of the most conspicuous, conservative 
and trusted financiers of Boston. They had 
come to New York the day previous to study 
the situation, the newspapers related, and were 
returning home with fears allayed. Every- 
[268] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

thing was improving. The whole country was 
in excellent shape, as far as they could see, and 
an upward movement of the market might be 
looked for as indicating a return of business 
confidence. 

By noon of that Tuesday extra editions of 
the afternoon papers were out announcing a 
turn in the market. Securities of every sort 
and condition had halted in their downward 
course, hesitated, rallied, and commenced to 
climb — those identified with Cuyler & Co. lead- 
ing. The newspapers did not know it, but the 
two New York bank presidents had placed 
strong supporting orders through a score of 
brokers, and kept piling them in hour after 
hour. The market closed in a delirious, aerial 
whirl — not a healthy, normal closing, but un- 
avoidable, perhaps, at such a crisis. 

That evening Bloodgood met in Pittsburg 
one of the most noted of United States Sena- 
tors, who had come on from Chicago in re- 
sponse to telegraphic summons. They spent an 
hour together, and Bloodgood started back to 
New York. It so happened that the principal 
commercial organisation of Pittsburg was to 
[269] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

hold a special meeting that night to consider 
the industrial situation, and when its secretary 
saw by an afternoon newspaper that the Sena- 
tor had arrived in town he was invited to make 
an address. He did so. It turned out to be 
the principal speech of the evening — a power- 
ful, convincing statement of financial confidence 
and business activity all the way from Chi- 
cago to the Golden Gate. Everybody through 
the Western country was cheerful, hopeful, op- 
timistic; nearly everybody was making money 
and spending it. The financial anxiety was 
merely a form of midsummer madness peculiar 
to New York and vicinity, and would soon be 
forgotten. 

The morning newspapers on Wednesday ran 
the Senator’s speech on their front pages, with 
heavy headlines over type double-leaded. 

Late editions of Wednesday’s evening news- 
papers contained other headlines, and other 
double-leaded type — despatches from Harris- 
burg announcing that owners and operators of 
anthracite mines in Pennsylvania had called on 
the Governor for troops to quell an insurrec- 
tion; that rioters had taken possession of the 
[270] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

coal region and were shooting, stabbing, dyna- 
miting, setting fire right and left, even holding 
up trains supposed to be carrying strike-break- 
ers. The sheriffs of the disturbed counties had 
likewise appealed for help, acknowledging 
their inability to restore law and order; the ut- 
most pressure was being brought to bear on 
the Governor by labour-leaders to prevent his 
action; the strongest financial interests in the 
Keystone State were insisting that he order out 
the National Guard. Everything indicated 
that at last the Governor was about to act, 
reasserting the dignity and power of the com- 
monwealth, and throwing troops into the field. 
If this should happen, the despatches added, 
the strike would be over in twenty-four hours. 

Column after column of reassuring news pre- 
dicting a quick settlement of the trouble were 
devoted to the situation. Of course the strike- 
leaders were permitted to express their views, 
which they did, defying the “ coal barons,” and 
ridiculing the idea that the Governor of Penn- 
sylvania would seriously consider such a pre- 
posterous thing as “ ordering brigades of armed 
men into a peaceful, law-abiding community.” 

[271] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

That night the entire National Guard of 
Pennsylvania was rushed to the scene of dis- 
order — ten thousand artillery, cavalry, infan- 
try. Rioting ceased shortly after daylight of 
Thursday, when the first troop train poked its 
nose up the Lehigh Valley beyond Penn 
Haven Junction — with officers perched on the 
pilot, looking along the track for dynamite cart- 
ridges, and sharpshooters on the roofs of cars. 
By Thursday night the strike was over. 

Then, on the bright morning following, 
which was Friday, several of the London 
heavyweight journals announced that bonds 
linking England and the United States had 
been forged and riveted for ever. Brothers in 
blood from the beginning, they were now 
brothers in finance, industry, commerce. 

“ It may well transpire,” one of these great 
journals solemnly concluded, “that should ne- 
cessity arise in the remote future — or in the 
future not so remote — England and America 
will prove to an amazed and incredulous world 
that they are also brothers in arms.” 

The portentous meaning underlying those 
serious words was not lost in European capitals 
[272] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

to which the sinister remarks were addressed, 
especially when evening newspapers of the same 
day published despatches announcing that 
American engineers were already on their way 
to Europe for the purpose of surveying a new 
route for the projected military railroad, which, 
regardless of previous plans, would run not to 
the Persian Gulf, but eastward to an outlet on 
the Pacific Ocean. 

When these astonishing pronouncements were 
instantly confirmed by St. Petersburg de- 
spatches the British Empire sighed with relief. 

Bloodgood read columns and pages devoted 
to the situation in the New York papers, and 
laughed aloud in his office. 

Cuyler scanned the headlines, and smiled 
grimly. 

Major Hartwell sat at dinner twice as long 
as usual that Friday evening, with a puzzled 
expression in his eyes, trying to figure out 
whether he and Wotsirb could possibly have 
been mixed up in this whirling situation without 
their knowledge. He was a good deal more 
puzzled when “ extra ” editions of the papers, 
issued late at night, fairly bristled with news 
[ 273 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ stories,” and inspired editorials, and inter- 
views with prominent men, telling about the 
century-old friendship between Russia and the 
United States; recalling how a Russian fleet 
had been sent with sealed orders to the vicinity 
of New York during a critical period of our 
Civil War, and how Russia was now welcom- 
ing the aid of America in building a great and 
immensely important railway system. Also the 
newspapers recalled the intimate blood-relation- 
ship existing between the throne of Russia and 
the British Royal family. 

Major Hartwell slept but little, and sailed 
for Europe early Saturday morning. He 
wanted several things explained by word of 
mouth — particularly as he noted that on Wed- 
nesday the Mediterranean and Channel Fleets 
of the British Navy had received extraordinary 
orders countermanding their customary manoeu- 
vres. 

Those orders, he ascertained later, had 
scarcely been received by the fleets when 
through some surprising leakage in the Bureau 
of Naval Intelligence, their very text was 
flashed from Havre into the Chancelleries 
[ 274 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

of all Europe; with the result that certain 
clever financiers in four Continental countries 
had been immediately notified, in unmistakable 
language, that they were to keep their hands off 
the projected military railway in the East; that 
further attempts to get hold of it would mean 
trouble — serious trouble — sudden, and plenty 
of it. 

Whatever of doubt once lingered in the 
minds of Continental statesmen and financiers, 
concerning the projected railway, was speedily, 
fully, emphatically set at rest. They realised 
that the military highway would be built by 
American engineers; that American steel, lum- 
ber, cement, machinery, locomotives, would be 
used in large part; also that the enterprise, in 
its new route to the Pacific, had Great Britain’s 
sympathy and moral support. A little later 
they were to learn that Cuyler’s astuteness 
would give France full opportunity to invent 
her surplus gold in bonds yielding excellent re- 
turns, and that he would make sure German 
manufacturers should be given opportunity to 
provide enormous quantities of finished mate- 
rial for the vast undertaking. Cuyler was very 

[275] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

far from being a fool. He had won the finan- 
cial game, and would be more than willing to 
share some of the profits with erstwhile legiti- 
mate competitors, thus transforming them from 
active rivals into associates, partners, friends. 

The little band of scheming rascals who had 
tried to ruin him, who had undoubtedly caused 
the abduction of Eleanor, he would attend to 
later. And the chosen leader of that band — 
as Cuyler afterward ascertained — was the man 
who sent the cipher cable from Brussels to 
Hoboken, which was relayed thence to Titus- 
ville, where “ Professor Simpson ” received it 
that evening of Friday, July 27, and at once 
hurried out of town as fast as the old white 
mare could travel. 


[276] 


XXII 


When Barrett left Bill Tyson’s farm, and 
started on toward Pithole, young Jim Tyson, 
mounted on the colt, cantered off in the oppo- 
site direction, carrying his note to his friends 
at the Hotel Brunswick. The last of the storm 
clouds had disappeared, and the moon, shining 
full, shed a gorgeous light over fields and hills 
and woods. The road was rough enough in 
all conscience, but now Barrett could see it and 
avoid the worst ruts and depressions. There- 
fore, he made rapid progress, and soon left 
Tyson’s far behind. As he came to a patch of 
woods lining both sides of the road, however, 
he slowed down to a walk. Tyson had men- 
tioned Pithole as lying a couple of miles be- 
yond his farm, but Barrett knew from expe- 
rience that the word “mile” may mean much 
or little to the individual countryman, and he 
planned to approach the deserted city with all 
caution, so that his presence would not be dis- 
covered, even suspected, by the abductors. 

[277] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Suddenly he heard a strange scraping noise 
beyond the next turn in the road; and a man’s 
voice. 

With light footsteps Barrett hurried for- 
ward, and peered ahead. There the woods 
came to an end ; beyond was a wide valley with 
fields in the foreground, and still beyond them 
a dozen or twenty buildings in various stages 
of dilapidation. And only a few hundred feet 
in front of him was the old buggy careening to 
one side because it now had but three wheels. 
“ Professor Simpson ” had lashed the limb of 
a tree to the axle from which the fourth wheel 
had fallen — it was this limb travelling over the 
road which made the scraping noise — and was 
walking ahead, leading the white horse. 

So he had not got far enough in advance to 
sound an alarm! That was fortunate indeed. 
Barrett wondered where the wheel had come 
off, and where it lay; he had not seen it in the 
road. Then he decided that “ Simpson ” had 
placed it inside the buggy and was carrying 
it with him. All Barrett had to do was to 
following the buggy at a safe distance. 

Mindful again of the danger of being dis- 
[278] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

covered he stood still until the white horse and 
the man and the broken-down vehicle had gone 
so far in advance of him that he could barely 
see their outlines. Then he started forward 
again, choosing shadows to walk in, looking 
carefully at the ground so he would not step 
on anything that would snap noisily under his 
feet, keeping eyesight and hearing strained to 
the utmost tension lest he be surprised from the 
rear or from either side. Once he stopped, 
took his revolver from the holster, carefully 
examined the chambers to make sure they were 
loaded, and put it back again. 

After what seemed to him an hour of this 
pursuit, the white horse turned to the left and 
went toward a house, situated far back from 
the road, which was sheltered by trees, and 
almost surrounded by an undergrowth of 
bushes. Barrett could make out its general 
lines, and noticed a light shining through win- 
dows on the ground floor. It was safe to draw 
nearer now, for the road was clear; and he sped 
forward until he arrived almost in front of 
the trees which half-concealed the house. Sud- 
denly he heard a low whistle repeated three 

[279] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

times — a short note, a long one, another short 
one; and he dropped to the ground, quietly 
worming himself among the trees and bushes. 
The signal was answered; someone stepped 
from the house to the porch in front and called 
in guarded tones: 

“ Everything all right? ” 

“Come down here, quick!” 

Barrett could not see the speakers, but he 
could hear their voices easily; also heavy foot- 
steps springing down the porch-stairs, and hur- 
rying over the ground to where the old white 
mare was impatiently stamping. 

Turning carefully and separating a bush with 
his hands he soon was able to obtain an un- 
obstructed view. In front of him, scarcely 
sixty feet away, was the buggy and the smooth- 
faced young man ; coming rapidly toward them 
was a short, thick-set fellow dressed like a 
farmer, wearing white hair and a long white 
beard. 

“ What’s up ? ” he demanded, shortly. 

“The game’s up! I’ve got a cable from 
Brussels! ” 

The older man snatched the white paper 
[280] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

from the other’s hand, lighted a match, and 
read it. 

“ Anything else ! ” he exclaimed. 

“Yes. We’ve got to skip, Alex.” 

“ Of course we have, you little fool ! ” 

“ Hold on a minute — let me finish.” 

“ Quick, then ! ” 

“This cable isn’t all, Alex. . . . When 

I was going to Titusville early this evening, I 
overtook a stranger on foot just beyond Ty- 
son’s farm. I don’t know how far out this 
way he’d been, but I didn’t like his looks.” 

“Get a chance to say anything to him?” 

“ Yes. He rode with me in the buggy back 
to Titusville. Said he was visiting there and 
was coming out to look at Pithole in a few 
days.” 

“The devil!” 

“Yes — Tyson had told him about my geol- 
ogy work here, and about her — about her be- 
ing sick — my wife, I mean.” 

The other nodded. After a moment he 
asked : 

“What did he look like? . . . Maybe 

you’re only nervous.” 

[281] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Maybe I am. But I’d give a good deal to 
be out of this job and have it over with. I 
tell you, I’m in a cold sweat half the time.” 

“Never mind your sweat 1 Tell me what 
he looks like.” 

“Well, he is about forty years old, I should 
judge, and spare, but not frail. Wiry, athletic 
build.” 

“ Quit generalities ! Give me details. Is 
one of his eyes blue, and the other brown? 
Has he got a broken nose and half his right 
ear gone? Give me a line on him! You 
know what I mean.” 

The stout man spoke threateningly, and the 
younger shrank from him. 

“ All right, Alex, I’m coming to that. No, 
his ear isn’t chewed off and he isn’t a cripple. 
But he’s a man of power — force — do you un- 
derstand? And his hair and beard are a tawny 
yellow, and he has pink cheeks, and cutting 
blue eyes — I could feel them looking at me 
sidewise. . . . What’s the matter, Alex! 

Are you ill? ” 

The thick-set man shook his head. “ No,” 
he answered in a strained voice, leaning one 
[282] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuylen 

hand heavily against a tree. “ Are you sure 
this fellow had tawny hair and beard,” he con- 
tinued, speaking with difficulty, “and pink 
cheeks? And those terrible eyes?” 

“Yes!” the other exclaimed in surprise. 
“ Do you recognise him ? Have we any rea- 
son to think ” 

“We have every reason to think; and to act 
without an instant’s delay ! ” The stout man 
recovered his poise with startling suddenness. 
“ He’s the last human being I want to see or 
hear from until we get safely back across the 
water! In this game I would risk outplaying 
any other living man — but if he’s in it, there’s 
only one thing for us to do. . . . Call 

Meg! Bring her down here — never mind the 
horse — get Meg!” 

The younger man started for the house, and 
while he was gone Barrett lay motionless in 
the underbrush, scarcely daring to breathe, for 
the other strode up and down so close they 
could almost touch one another. 

Then “Professor Simpson” returned, and 
with him a heavily built wojnan. 

“What’s up, Alex?” she said, cautiously. 
[283] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Everything. . . . We’re called off by 

cable, and Wotsirb’s on the job.” 

“ Wotsirh! ” the woman exclaimed, starting 
back a step. 

“Yes. He’s in Titusville now. He was at 
Tyson’s farm this evening. And the chances 
are that he’ll be out here by daylight — as soon 
as he can get a crowd of operators on from 
Erie or Pittsburg. . . . There’s no train 

due in Titusville until two o’clock in the morn- 
ing, so we’ve got time to start. . . . We’ll 

carry out the original plan. You two will hoof 
it across country to Oil City, take the Owl 
Train to Pittsburg, jump the Pennsylvania Lim- 
ited when it comes along from Chicago, and 
meet me in Hoboken to-morrow night at the 
usual place.” 

“ Yes,” the younger man interrupted, “ but 
how are you ” 

“Shut up! Listen. . . . I’ll take her 
in the buggy. We can reach Pleasantville be- 
fore Wotsirb does. There I’ll turn off the back 
way, through the woods, carry out the original 
plan, and at Hydetown catch the three o’clock 
train for Buffalo. That will land me in New 
[284] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

York the same time you get to Jersey City — 
and we can meet in Hoboken. I’ll wire from 
Buffalo, engaging passage on three separate 
steamers sailing Wednesday.” 

“But you can’t!” the smooth-faced man 
burst forth. “You can’t take her in the 
buggy ! ” 

“Why not!” 

“ One of the wheels came off and went to 
smash ! You can’t drive a hundred feet in it! ” 

“You mean it?” Alex gasped. 

The other nodded, and the stout woman 
started to sob. 

“Hold your tongue, Meg!” the elder man 
exclaimed. “ Let me think a moment. . . . 

Well, you two start for Oil City. I’ll take 
the girl on foot through the woods as long as 
she can walk, and then lug her on my back as 
far as necessary.” 

He paused and felt in his pockets before add- 
ing: 

“ Got the hypodermic? ” 

“ Yes, but I didn’t stop to buy any more of 
the remedy. When I got that cable I didn’t 
stop for anything. I gave her the last I had 
[285] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

at three o’clock this afternoon, and the effect 
will wear off before daylight.” 

“ That will give me time enough. . . . 

Now get a move on! Stick to the original 
plan — don’t forget the satchels. . . . Come 
along, Meg! ” 

The three went off in the direction of the 
house, and as soon as they had disappeared 
therein, Barrett sprang from his hiding-place 
and fairly flew back to the road. 

If Winthrop and Hambidge only would 
come in the next few minutes! He peered as 
far as he could in the darkness, and listened 
intently; but saw nothing. For one moment 
he thought he heard the hoof-beats of a gal- 
loping horse, then knew it was all imagination. 
No; nothing could be expected in the way of 
reinforcements. He must play the hand alone 
— with caution, but resolutely, and with in- 
stant decision^ 

Fortunately, too, the matter would be com- 
paratively simple. Instead of tackling all 
three of the gang in an unequal struggle he 
would wait until “ Professor Simpson ” and the 
stout woman started across country towards 
[286] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Oil City. Then he would quietly follow the 
other man and Eleanor until they were at a 
safe distance from the locality — and the rest 
would be easy. Two of the gang might es- 
cape; but the ring-leader — Barrett’s fingers 
locked and interlocked, his eyes contracted; his 
lower teeth showed through his tightly drawn 
lips. 

Again he turned back toward the house, and 
saw the shadow of someone at a side window. 
What had they been doing to Miss Cuyler 
while he was running up the road and looking 
for Winthrop and Hambidge? What were 
they doing to her now? What was the “orig- 
inal plan ” the chief of the gang had referred 
to? Evidently he did not intend to take her 
back to Buffalo and New York with him. 
Could it be possible that now, at this moment, 
they were making preparations to 

With noiseless steps he ran to the front of 
the house hoping to see the interior through 
the door, but it was closed. For an instant 
he halted, and pulled his big revolver from 
its holster. Then placing one hand on the 
floor of the porch, he sprang upward; and came 
[287] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

down crashing through a rotten board. 
Quickly he pulled his foot out of the hole, 
and had half-risen again when a dark body 
launched itself through the open window close 
by. Something dealt him a terrific blow on the 
head; his eyes swam, and with a groan he 
sank down in a heap. 

He could not have been stunned more than 
a few moments, for in his first regaining con- 
sciousness he was dimly, vaguely aware of 
three people hurrying past him in the darkness, 
half-leading, half-carrying a fourth; and as he 
painfully, slowly raised his head a few inches 
he saw them plunge into the woods. 

Then he sank back to the floor of the porch, 
his head aching, aching, his body benumbed. 
His brain was seething in fiery circles, and 
through them was woven the portrait of a 
young girl in brown and white, her lips half- 
parted in a smile, her eyes looking frankly, 
directly, into his. 

“ I must get to her! ” he murmured weakly. 
“My God! I must get to her somehow. 

. . . She’s there in the woods — they’re car- 
rying her off ” 


[288] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

By almost superhuman effort he struggled to 
his knees, slowly made his way down the steps 
to the ground, and painfully crawled across 
the little open space surrounding the house. 
As he went forward sharp stones cut his hands ; 
twigs, rough, wiry weeds, bushes — a thousand 
forms of rank undergrowth — impeded his 
progress; but he kept on, and on, little by lit- 
tle; and finally disappeared in the great, black, 
silent, awe-inspiring forest. 


[289] 


XXIII 


While Barrett, concealed in the bushes before 
the house, had been listening to the members 
of the gang plan their flight, young Jim Ty- 
son, mounted on a fiery little colt, galloping from 
his father’s farm toward Titusville, had an 
adventure. 

He was going up a slope at a pace little short 
of a runaway — a particularly dark, black slope 
— when the colt suddenly shied violently, 
reared, and whirled half-round. 

“Whoa, there, Tim!” he commanded; and 
the same moment realised that he was looking 
down at a man on foot, who was gripping the 
colt’s bridle with both hands. 

“Steady, my friend,” the stranger remarked, 
as if theirs was the most commonplace of 
meetings. 

“Let go there!” Jim shouted. “I’m in a 
hurry ” 

“ Oh, I thought he was running away with 
you,” the stranger rejoined; “and supposed 
[290] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

you’d be glad of a helping hand. I want to 
make sure you’re not hurt in any way,” he 
added. “ Here, Winthrop, turn the bull’s-eye 
on this young gentleman.” 

A blinding glare of light flashed into Jim’s 
face, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. 

“ Is your name Winthrop ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes ” 

“Where are you staying in Titusville?” 

“ At the Brunswick — why? ” 

“ Do you know a Mr. Hambidge there? ” 

“ That’s my name ! ” the lawyer replied, 
springing out of a light wagon whose dim 
shape Jim now saw for the first time. 

“ What do you know about Mr. Winthrop 
and Mr. Hambidge? ” demanded the man who 
still held tightly to the colt’s bridle. 

“ I’ve got a letter for them,” young Tyson 
replied, “ but — but I was told to deliver it at 
the hotel.” 

“ Hand it over, my lad, it’s all right. You 
must know the driver of this rig? — he’s from 
Brown’s livery. He’ll tell you it’s all right.” 

The wagon came alongside. 

“ Better do as he says,” advised the driver. 

[291] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

With evident misgiving Jim handed the en- 
velope to Winthrop, who quickly read the note 
inside, as did Hambidge, and gave it to the 
third stranger. A single glance was sufficient. 

“ Barrett has got ahead of us ! ” the painter 
exclaimed. 

“Yes,” growled Wotsirb, “and he’s prob- 
ably queered the game — scared them off.” 

Then he suddenly asked: “ Can you two ride 
bareback? ” 

“ I can,” Hambidge answered. 

“ I never have, but I’m not afraid to try,” 
Winthrop added. 

“ Unhook your horses, driver ! Leave on 
their headstalls — snatch off all the other har- 
ness. . . . These men have got to sail 

ahead with me, and can’t wait for the wagon.” 

“Not on your life!” the driver protested. 
“ It ain’t my orders ” 

“ Never mind your orders — this is a case of 
life or death. Get to work, Winthrop. . . . 
Here, young man, climb off that colt ! I need 
him, and I’ll see he gets back safe to you.” 

“ Is it the sick lady you’re going to? ” asked 
Jim Tyson, doubtfully. 

[292] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

u Yes — and if we don’t get there quickly she 
may be dead.” 

Jim threw himself to the ground. 

“ Get on,” he said. “The colt’s yours! ” 

The driver made no further objection. 
There was a rattling of chains and buckles, 
the harnesses were pulled off, and Jim and 
the driver saw the others dash away; Wotsirb 
in the lead, trying his best to hold the excited 
colt under control. 

From that moment Hambidge and Winthrop 
had no time to think of distance or surround- 
ings. They had all they could do to stay 
safely on the bare, slippery backs of those 
sweating horses, which blindly followed after 
the galloping colt as he tore down the long 
slope, across a level stretch, up a hill, through 
Pleasantville and out upon the highway be- 
yond. 

Another mile, and Wotsirb was almost 
thrown from the saddle, for at a farmyard 
gate — Tyson’s — the colt turned sharply. Quick 
action, coupled with superb horsemanship, pre- 
vented a catastrophe, and a moment later the 
colt was flying down the road toward Pithole, 

[293] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

urged to greater speecl by the sound of the 
other animals close behind, which were plung- 
ing through the night half-crazed with terror. 

When Wotsirb came to a sharp curve a few 
minutes later he pulled in the colt gradually, 
firmly, and called to his companions to slow 
down. This they were able to do, for their 
own mounts, covered with lather, were blow- 
ing hard and trembling. As the detective had 
surmised, just beyond the curve lay Pithole — 
there they stopped. 

“ Tie your horses to trees ! ” he commanded, 
speaking rapidly in low tones. u That’s the 
way. . . . All ready? Come on now — 

quietly, quietly — save your breath. ... I 
can see a light away down there to the left ! ” 

On they ran, over the same ground Barrett 
had passed so recently, and halted by the bushes 
where he had lain concealed. 

“We’ve missed your friend,” whispered the 
Secret Service man. “He said if we didn’t 
meet him in the road to jump for the house. 
Now, then — pull your guns, and on with 
me!” 

Side by side, three abreast, they dashed across 

[294] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the open space before the building, sprang up 
the steps to the porch, burst in through the 
front door and stopped at the entrance to a 
room in which a lajnp was burning. Two or 
three empty boxes, evidently used in place of 
chairs, were scattered about On a table were 
a few tin dishes and the remains of a meal. 
Near the opposite wall were two cot-beds. 

Wotsirb seized the bull’s-eye from Winthrop, 
and ran through one room after another of the 
house. 

“They’ve skipped! ” he exclaimed. “ Come 
along ” 

The painter and Hambidge followed him 
out of doors again, where he paused long 
enough to sweep the open space with his lan- 
tern. Suddenly his eye caught a light object 
lying on the ground close to the fringe of the 
forest; and all three ran toward it, Winthrop 
reaching it first and picking it up. 

“Barrett’s hat!” he cried. “They’re in 
the woods somewhere ! ” 

“Not so loud,” Wotsirb cautioned. 
“ Steady there ! Go softly.” 

He quickly swept his light this way and that 
[ 295 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

over the ground close to the trees, then darted 
forward: 

“ They went in here — where the bushes are 
beaten down! The trail is plain as can be. 
Keep close together, and don’t shoot unless 
you have to — you might hit Miss Cuyler or 
you friend.” 

While the detective was speaking he and the 
two others were pushing rapidly ahead; but 
soon he halted. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Hambidge. 

“ The gang has separated,” Wotsirb replied, 
swinging his light to one side. “ Some of them 
kept straight ahead, and others turned off here 
to the left. . . . We have only one bull’s- 

eye,” he added after an instant of reflection, 
“ and we’ll have to keep together.” 

Then they plunged forward again as fast 
as they could go in the thick, deep, overgrown 
forest, beating their way through bushes, 
springing over fallen timber, avoiding pitfalls 
— when suddenly dead ahead of them came a 
flash of light and the crack of a revolver. Wot- 
sirb dropped to earth, shutting off his bull’s-eye 
as he did so, and the others fell alongside of 
[296] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

him. A second later the shot was repeated, 
and then came two more. Wotsirb quickly 
wormed himself along the ground, whisper- 
ing: 

“ Come on, both of you — get out of range! ” 

There was absolute silence for a few mo- 
ments. Then almost simultaneously three re- 
volvers cracked, the bullets whizzing over their 
heads, cutting twigs in their flight, and “ spat- 
ting ” as they were stopped by tree-trunks. 

“ We’ll surround them,” whispered the de- 
tective. “ I’ll go straight ahead, Winthrop 
around to the left, Hambidge to the right. 
Be careful of your guns — we might hurt each 
other — now go ! ” 

Stooping low the detective darted forward, 
and Hambidge sped off to the right, while 
Winthrop dived through a barrier of bushes 
to the left. 

For a while the painter found it hard going, 
particularly as he tried to the utmost to move 
quietly; but soon he found himself in a part 
of the forest comparatively bare of under- 
growth. The moon shone down brightly. He 
could see every stone, every fallen tree, and 

[297] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

was able to run as noiselessly as an Indian. 
Then he stopped short — off there where Wot- 
sirb should be he heard a fusillade of shots. 

Winthrop stood motionless, wondering 
whether he ought to keep on or go to the 
other’s assistance. He was just starting for- 
ward again, when he heard something rushing 
through the woods, coming from the right; and 
he barely had time to step back of a great oak- 
tree before he made out the figure of a man in 
full flight, headed directly toward him. Mind- 
ful of Wotsirb’s warning about using his re- 
volver, Winthrop remained rigid as a statue, 
confident that he had not been discovered. 
Another moment, and the flying figure was just 
in front; then crouching low, he sprang from 
back of the tree, caught the other just below 
the knees, and they rolled over and over on the 
stony ground. 

Neither uttered a word. Both fought des- 
perately, for they knew what the contest meant. 
Once the stranger got his fingers on Winthrop’s 
holster and tried to wrench out the revolver, 
but at the same instant Winthrop gripped his 
antagonist’s throat and shoved his chin up- 
[298] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ward with all his strength. The next second the 
painter was hurled over on his side, losing his 
hold on the other man, who suddenly shook 
himself free, and with a swish vanished in the 
forest. 

For an almost imperceptible fraction of time 
Winthrop lay there, dazed. Then he sprang 
to his feet, and was starting after the stranger 
when he heard Wotsirb’s voice. 

“ Winthrop ! Hambidge ! ” the detective 
shouted, swinging his light upward to show 
where he was. “ This way, men ! This way! ” 

Wotsirb had just stumbled over something 
— a man’s body lying face downward flat on 
the ground. One hand gripped a revolver; the 
other, stretched out ahead, held a golden disc 
that shone brightly as the bull’s-eye flashed on 
it. And, a dozen feet beyond, the lantern re- 
vealed a young woman firmly bound to a tree — 
her head bowed forward, her eyes closed. 

Whipping out his knife, the Secret Service 
man cut the cords binding her, and laid her 
carefully on the ground. Quickly he listened 
to her heart, felt of her pulse; and as Ham- 
bidge and Winthrop arrived, he said: 

[299] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“She’s living! . . . Look after your 

friend, there, he’s hurt.” 

Again the detective bent over the motionless 
girl, raising and lowering her arms. He 
turned back her closed eyelids, and looked 
keenly at the pupils so revealed; then, much 
relieved, he glanced at the others who had 
turned Barrett over so that he rested more 
easily. 

“ How is he? Done up bad?” 

“ No, I think not,” Winthrop replied, going 
to where the detective was busily chafing Elea- 
nor’s arms. “ Do you think Miss Cuyler will 
come out of it? ” 

“ I think she will. Looks as if they’d merely 
kept her doped — morphine, perhaps, or knock- 
out drops. Hambidge, get some water from 
the brook there and sprinkle it in your friend’s 
face.” 

“ He’s breathing pretty heavily,” said the 
lawyer, “ but I can’t find any wound except a 
lump back of his left ear.” 

u Blackjack probably, or brass knuckles,” 
Wotsirb commented. “ He’ll be all right 
after you get the water. . . . Here, Win- 

[300] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

throp, help me. raise Miss Cuyler to her feet. 
That’s the way; she’ll be better, soon.” 

They walked the girl back and forth a few 
times, when she trembled, and opened her eyes. 
First she gave the stranger on her right a look 
of fear mingled with despair; then, turning to 
the other man, she stood still, gasped, and 
sobbed aloud, crying: 

“ Sheldon ! Sheldon ! ” 

“Yes,” he responded, “I’m here — it’s all 
right, Eleanor. We have found you, and 
you’re safe now with friends of mine. The — 
the others have gone.” 

“ Guess we’d better go back to the house 
so you can sit down, Miss Cuyler,” suggested 
Wotsirb. “ I’ll give you a little brandy and 
you’ll feel stronger.” 

It was a slow journey, for she seemed very 
weak, and as they arrived at the house, Barrett 
came up to the steps leaning on Hambidge. 
“How is she?” he anxiously whispered. 

“ Getting along finely,” Winthrop replied. 
“ Wotsirb is bringing a cot out here for her to 
rest on — and we, ought to have a fire, Ham- 
bidge.” 


[301] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

The girl, who was sitting beside him on the 
steps, raised her head and smiled. 

“That would be nice,” she murmured; “a 
fire, I mean.” 

“ Nicest thing in the world ! ” Barrett ex- 
claimed. “We’ll have one started in half a 
minute ! ” 

He sprang to his feet, and stepped forward; 
then suddenly sat down again. “ I’m a bit 
dizzy,” he explained. 

“Oh, are you hurt?” she cried. 

“ No, not at all — Sheldon, or somebody, 
just bumped into me in the dark, that’s all,” 
he remarked lamely. “ Now don’t you worry 
about yourself or me, or anything else,” he con- 
tinued impetuously. “ You’re safe now, and 
to-morrow you’ll be back home — if you’re well 
enough to travel.” 

“ I’ll go anywhere ! ” she exclaimed with sud- 
den strength. “ I want to go soon — now ! 
When can we start ? ” 

“We will start as soon as we can get a car- 
riage, right after daylight,” Wotsirb replied 
quietly, coming out of the house with a cot-bed. 
“ But I want you to lie down here for a while.” 

[302] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

As she did so, Barrett pulled Wotsirb to him. 

“The gang!” he whispered. “Where are 
they? I heard them plan to start across coun- 
try for Oil City!” 

“ Easy, easy,” said the detective. “ I’ll have 
men here soon to round them up. They ought 
to be well on the way by this time. Here, Win- 
throp, you and your friends stay by Miss Cuy- 
ler. Give me the bull’s-eye. I must go down 
the road and meet my force.” 

Taking the lantern he hurried away, turning 
in the direction of Tyson’s farm; and near the 
outer limits of Pithole saw half a dozen fig- 
ures running toward him in the darkness. 

“ Halt ! ” he shouted, swinging his light. 
“I’m Wotsirb — who are you?” 

“ Thompson, from Buffalo, and Bailey, from 
the Pittsburg office ! ” 

“ Come on, quick! . . . Now listen,” he 
added, as they grouped themselves around him. 
“ Somewhere off in the woods back there are 
two men and a woman. I want them. They 
are on the jump, understand ? Another woman 
and three friends are at that house where you 
see the light. Let them alone.” 

[303] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Very good, sir,” said Bailey. “ I’ll start 
with my men around to the north, while 
Thompson and his men beat in from the west.” 

“Get busy,” Wotsirb commanded; “and 
when you find them, report to me.” 

The two parties of detectives separated and 
silently sped away in the darkness, while Wot- 
sirb made his way back toward the fire. He 
had much to think of. First of all his business 
was to restore Miss Cuyler to her father. It 
was safe for her to travel, he thought; at any 
rate he would run the risk, as it was highly 
desirable to get her within reach of a physician, 
in case she should develop serious illness as a 
result of the shock to her nervous system. 
Then, if possible, he must have an interview 
with the fugitives who were out there in the 
woods. He hoped they would be captured be- 
fore sunrise — he had a few words to say to 
them. 

“Oh, Mr. Hambidge,” he called, as he ap- 
proached the house. 

“What is it?” asked the lawyer, coming to 
him. 

“ Somewhere between here and Tyson’s farm 

[304] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

you’ll find the wagon we came out here in, and 
another like it. Go there, please, and tell the 
drivers to get ready to take us back to Titus- 
ville right after daylight. Then push on to 
Tyson’s, and buy whatever you can find for 
breakfast — coffee, eggs, milk, bread, and so on. 
We can cook it out here. Bring young Jim 
Tyson back with you to get his colt.” 

Hambidge started on the errand, and Wot- 
sirb kept on toward the house, meeting Barrett 
on the way. 

“ Anything new? ” he asked briefly. 

“ Miss Cuyler’s getting along O. K.,” the 
New Englander replied. “ Heart action some- 
what accelerated, of course, and respiration not 
quite normal; but otherwise in a satisfactory 
condition.” 

“Are you a doctor? ” the Secret Service man 
said, with a smile. 

“ Yes,” Barrett replied. “ At least I used to 
be. I don’t practise nowadays.” 

“Luck again!” Wotsirb mentally ex- 
claimed ; then said aloud : “ It is necessary for 
me to know Miss Cuyler’s actual condition.” 

“ As far as I can tell from superficial exam- 
[305 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

ination,” the other responded, “ Miss Cuyler 
has been kept under the influence of some 
opiate administered hypodermically, at frequent 
intervals and in very small quantities. What 
it is I have not determined, but the effects of 
the last dose are wearing off rapidly. She is 
of course, extremely nervous, but I do not think 
she is seriously ill in any way.” 

“How about yourself?” 

“ Oh, I’m all right. I’ve got a lump like a 
hard-boiled ostrich egg on the back of my head, 
here. That’s what stunned me.” 

“ Did you see any of the gang ? ” Wotsirb 
asked. 

“Yes, all of them.” And he briefly related 
what he had seen and heard while he lay con- 
cealed in the bushes earlier that night. 

Wotsirb nodded approval at the clear, accu- 
rate statement. 

“Now then,” he said, “I want to know if 
it is safe to take Miss Cuyler home at once? ” 

“ It’s the best thing you can do,” Barrett 
replied emphatically. “ The sooner she gets 
away from this scene the better. What do you 
propose? ” 


[306] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ I want to drive with her to Titusville as 
soon as it is light enough — in time to catch the 
early express for Buffalo. It carrier a Pullman, 
and we will take a stateroom for her, of course. 
You and Winthrop will look after her. At 
Buffalo we’ll board a New York Central train, 
and push right on.” 

“ It’s a good plan,” said Barrett. “ We’ll ask 
Hambidge to stay in Titusville long enough to 
settle hotel bills, and bring along our hand- 
baggage.” 

“And to hand my resignation to the editor 
of the Morning Herald,” the Secret Service 
man concluded with a cheerful grin. 


[ 307 ] 


XXIV 


Breakfast was cooked out of doors, and 
they were eating it when one of the Pittsburg 
detectives appeared at the edge of the woods 
and beckoned to Wotsirb, who arose and went 
to him. 

“ Captain Bailey sent me to say we’ve 
pinched the bunch,” he remarked briefly. 

“Two men and one woman?” Wotsirb 
inquired. 

The other nodded. 

“Where are they?” 

“ Back there about a quarter of a mile, in 
a ravine. The little guy with black whiskers 
was scootin’ through the bushes like a scared 
deer when he ran plump into me arms. He 
let out a yell and started to scrap, so I had to 
t’ump him up a bit. Later on he said he had 
had a wrastlin’ match with somebody in the 
woods a couple of hours ago, but made a get- 
away. He thought I was the party.” 

“ No,” said Wotsirb, “ that was Mr. Win- 
[ 308 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

throp he told me about it afterward. 

Where did you say the others are?” 

“ Back there in a deep holler. The lady, 
she’d fell over a log, and sprained her ankle 
bad, or broke it— so’s she can’t walk, hardly. 
Some hefty, she is; and the other man, the big, 
broad-shouldered guy, was standing by her. So 
they was easy.” 

“ What else?” 

“ We found three satchels near ’em in the 
bushes, filled up with farmer’s clothes, and a 
white wig, and a big bonnet and such-like 
truck.” 

“See that curve in the road?” asked 
Wotsirb. 

The Pittsburg detective nodded. 

“ Just beyond it is a mass of rock. Tell 
Bailey and Thompson to bring the prisoners to 
me up there. Go through the woods, and don’t 
let them come in sight of this house — under- 
stand? ” 

“ Yessir.” 

Wotsirb came back to the group around the 
fire and spoke to Barrett, who walked off with 
him up the road. The light of early morning 
[ 309 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

had already come to the open space about the 
house, but the long-abandoned curving road- 
way, lined with trees and tall bushes, was still 
obscured as they passed over it to the great 
rock, where they sat down and waited. 

The chill of night lingered in the air, which 
was fragrant with the damp odours of wild 
flowers and grass-stems dripping with moisture. 
Far above them the topmost leaves now and 
then stirred gently, and birds were beginning 
to peep. A chipmunk flashed along an old 
fence-rail across the way, suddenly stopping to 
regard the strangers with black, beady eyes, 
then, with a whisk of his tail, diving out of 
sight in the ruins of a stone-wall. 

Barrett was about to ask a question of Wot- 
sirb, when they heard a trampling of bushes, 
and a few moments later a ghostly procession 
could be seen coming toward them through the 
woods — six detectives carrying several satchels, 
and surrounding three prisoners. One, a stout 
woman, hobbled painfully over the rough 
ground. Back of her came a slender young 
man, with black hair and carefully trimmed 
black beard, who wore dark goggles. He was 
[3io] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

handcuffed to another man, much shorter, much 
heavier, smooth-faced, who was dressed as a 
priest. 

The strange group came directly up to the 
rock whereon Barrett and Wotsirb were wait- 
ing, and there halted. 

For a full minute Wotsirb sat motionless as 
a statue, regarding the prisoners with a coun- 
tenance terrible in its severity. Never had 
Barrett seen such an expression on a human 
face. Never did he expect to see its like 
again. 

Finally Wotsirb spoke, his sharp tones shat- 
tering the damp silence of early dawn. 

“ Captain Thompson, how much time can 
we get for this band of kidnappers under the 
laws of New York? ” 

“ Twenty-five years at hard labour, sir.” 

“ I guess we can do better than that in Penn- 
sylvania — eh, Bailey?” 

“ Life-imprisonment, considering all the 
counts,” the Pittsburg detective replied. 

“ I have something in mind that would be 
better yet,” Wotsirb said, after a pause. “ It 
would be easy, wouldn’t it, to take these crooks 
[3ii] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

across the border into Maryland and ‘ frame- 
up ’ a case there ?” 

“Sure thing!” Bailey promptly responded. 
“ We can slide into Baltimore with ’em on a 
train, and turn them over to the police with no 
trouble at all.” 

“ Fact is,” Captain Thompson interrupted 
with unconcealed glee, “ it’s my own impression 
that we followed them out of Pennsylvania 
and put the nippers on ’em while the train was 
in Maryland territory.” 

u The main beauty of this plan,” Wotsirb 
explained, turning to Barrett, “ is that under 
the laws of Maryland the crime of kidnapping 
calls for the death-penalty.” 

As he heard this the younger man with black 
beard and goggles uttered a gasp, swayed, and 
sank to the ground. 

His heavily-built companion looked down at 
him contemptuously. 

The woman cursed. 

“ Let him lie there a moment,” Wotsirb 
commanded, “the soft-boned little swine! And 
take the bracelets off His Reverence. Bring 
him nearer — it’s not very light here, yet, and 
[312] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

I want a good look at him. ... By the 
way,” he added, turning to Captain Bailey, 
“did you find anything on them?” 

“Yessir. Both men had guns, and this fat 
buck had a blackjack also. Here it is,” he 
concluded, holding up the weapon. 

“That’s what made the lump on the back 
of your head,” Wotsirb remarked to Barrett. 
“ If you want him to know how it feels, you 
can batter him up a bit with it — we won’t inter- 
fere.” 

The Bostonian shook his head, disgusted at 
the suggestion. 

“ Of course I knew you wouldn’t,” Wotsirb 
hastened to add, “ but as a matter of profes- 
sional etiquette, I was bound to give you the 
opportunity. . . . Well, your Reverence, 

this is a pretty mixup you’ve got into, isn’t it? ” 

The fat man glared at Wotsirb, but made no 
other response. 

“ I didn’t expect to see you here, honestly, 
I didn’t. Had no idea it was you doing this 
job until ten minutes ago when these gentle- 
men brought you out of the woods. . . . 

Let’s see; last time I saw you was in Paris — ■ 
[ 313 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

d’ye remember ? You had a nice, easy berth 
then, keeping an ex-President from South 
America — or was it Central America? — from 
being assassinated? And to think that a man 
of your experience would be fool enough to 
undertake this crazy job ! Really, Beretsin, 
I’m ashamed of your lack of judgment. . . . 

“ Before I forget it, who’s your little friend 
there, that fainted a while ago? He’s coming 
around all right, now. Here, one of you men, 
snatch off that black beard — I want to see what 
he really looks like. . . . To be sure! If 

it isn’t the gentleman who gave me such a nice 
drive into Titusville ! ” 

The slender man sprang up with an angry 
exclamation on his lips. It turned to a cry of 
pain when a detective standing near swiftly 
gripped him by the throat, shaking him as a 
terrier would shake a rat. 

“ Easy, easy,” said Wotsirb. “ None of 
them is to be done up — just yet.” 

He paused and inspected the prisoners before 
addressing them directly, which he did a mo- 
ment afterward in quiet, conversational tones. 

“ Now, you three, listen carefully, for I’ve 
[3i4] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

got something to say to you. ... It would 
be the easiest thing in the world for me to run 
you over the border into Maryland, and con- 
vict you of kidnapping Miss Cuyler. Person- 
ally, I should enjoy the sight of all three of you 
dangling on the end of a rope. But that would 
mean a lot of trouble and expense to the State. 
And honestly, I don’t think such vermin as you 
are worth a single dollar of taxpayers’ money. 

‘‘Taking everything into consideration, I 
have decided to give you a choice in the matter. 
Now, of course I have no authority to ship you 
out of the country. I admit that. But I’ll 
leave the whole thing with you. If you want 
to go back to France on the first steamer, well 
and good. If you want to go to Maryland 
on the first train, and be convicted and hanged, 
it’s all the same to me. Take your choice. 
Only remember, that if you go back to Paris 
you’ll have to stay there. I will at once write 
the Bureau a full statement of the case, and if 
you ever attempt to cross the frontier you will 
be picked up on sight. The International 
Police, you know, has a long, long arm, and a 
grip that never relaxes. . . . Now, my 

[3i5] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

dear Beretsin,” Wotsirb softly concluded with 
the kindliest of smiles, “ which will you do — 
go to Paris or go to the gallows?” 

The prisoner grunted one word. 

“ Paris.” 

Then the Chief Consultant of the Federal 
Secret Service turned to his assistants. 

“ Captain Bailey,” he said, in sharp, crisp 
tones, “ you are relieved of duty and will return 
to your office. Captain Thompson and his men 
will take the prisoners to New York on the 
train leaving Titusville at noon. 

“ From New York, Thompson, you will sail 
by the first steamer, and deliver these crooks 
at the Paris headquarters as soon as you can 
get there — but merely for a line-up and 
Bertillon measurements. I will write the 
Bureau to-day. 

“It is light enough to travel now, and my 
party will be going past here very soon in a 
wagon. I don’t want them to see any of you. 
Take your prisoners back into the woods and 
stay there until we are gone.” 

Again he ceased speaking, and glanced at his 
watch. Then he remarked, reflectively: 

[316] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ It’s just as well this woman’s ankle is 
badly sprained — she won’t try to get away. If 
the others make a break you can shoot them 
without any trouble. . . . 

“ Now, one last order for all of you. Not 
a word of this case to anyone — this is Wash- 
ington business” 

He gave a gesture of dismissal and watched 
them as they went back into the woods. 

When they had finally disappeared he turned 
to the man by his side. “ Come on, Doctor 
Barrett! We must go back to the house and 
get ready to start. That wagon ought to be 
here any moment now. It’s half-past four, and 
pretty nearly sunrise.” 


[3i7] 


XXV 


Mortimer Cuyler entered his banking house 
shortly before eight o’clock that Saturday morn- 
ing. He was one of a very few in the Wall 
Street district who clung tenaciously to the old- 
fashioned habit of starting business early in the 
day, and frequently was at his desk long before 
his partners and clerks arrived. 

To-day he appeared cheerful, almost jubi- 
lant. He had routed his enemies. Foreign 
financiers had ceased their warfare. The an- 
thracite strike was settled. Wall Street had 
responded to restored business confidence, and 
his prestige was greater than ever. 

Cuyler stepped from his cab full of energy, 
every line of his being expressive of alertness, 
decision, command. For the first time since 
July 1 8 — the day Mrs. Hazard had telephoned 
him about Eleanor’s unaccountable absence — 
he had slept throughout the night; and this 
morning he marvelled that he should feel so 
little anxiety about his daughter. To be sure, 
[318] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

he had received Winthrop’s telegram of two 
nights previous saying that Eleanor’s locket 
had been found at Corry, and as the message 
had been sent from Poughkeepsie he reasoned 
that the painter was then on his way to the 
Pennsylvania town. This information, in a 
measure, verified Wotsirb’s advices from Titus- 
ville. Probably that was responsible for the 
spirit of hopefulness that had taken the place 
of his inward despair. 

At any rate he was profoundly thankful that 
things looked better. 

As the banker swung into his private office, 
his eyes bright, his step firm, Johnson followed 
immediately, and handed him a telegram which 
had just been delivered. Cuyler tore open the 
yellow envelope, marked “Personal: Rush,” 
and read the message once, twice, thrice; to 
make sure of its import. Then, handing it to 
Johnson, he turned without a word, and walked 
over to the nearest window. 

The telegram was as follows : 

Corry, Penna., July 28. 

Your instructions carried out. Miss Cuyler leaves 
[ 319 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

Buffalo with me this morning at 9.28, train 4, due 
Grand Central Station 7.55 to-night. 

Bristow. 

Scarcely had the secretary read it, when an 
attendant, knocking at the door, brought in 
another message, the ink of which had scarcely 
dried. 

“ Quick Johnson ! ” said Cuyler, holding out 
his hand. Another yellow envelope fluttered to 
the floor. The second telegram read thus: 

Corry, Pa., July 28. 

Eleanor sends love. Hopes you can meet us at 
Albany. Train due there 4.05. Somewhat nervous, 
but nothing serious. Rapidly regaining her strength. 
Have wired Mrs. Hazard. 

Winthrop. 

Cuyler pulled out his watch. 

“ Sit down at the table for orders,” he said 
quietly. 

Johnson whipped note-book and pencil from 
his pocket. 

“ Ready, sir,” he responded, and the other 
man commenced to dictate, calmly, but in 
rapidly spoken sentences. 

[320] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ I am going up State on the Empire Express 
probably as far as Utica, to meet my daughter. 

“Notify Captain Hasbrouck to proceed at 
once to Albany with the Norseman f and wait 
there for me. It is possible that we may get 
there a little ahead of him. 

“ Telephone Mrs. Hazard to come to the 
city at once. You will meet her at the ferry, 
and take her to Albany by train, also taking a 
maid for Miss Cuyler. . . . Notify Doctor 
Northrup that it is my urgent wish for him to 
accompany you and Mrs. Hazard. 

“Leave word for Mr. Bloodgood that I am 
called out of town. He can wire me on board 
the Empire if necessary up to twelve o’clock.” 

Again he glanced at his watch. 

“ That’s all,” he concluded, starting out of 
his office. 

Another minute and he was in a cab racing 
uptown toward Forty-second Street. 

The horse’s steel-shod hoofs, clicking over 
the hard paving-stones, formed an awkward 
accompaniment to a hymn-tune Cuyler had sung 
Sunday after Sunday, almost forty years pre- 
vious, in an old white church which stood on a 

[321] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

hillside and looked down upon the Vermont 
hamlet where he had been born. He was a strip- 
ling then, and sang in the village choir because 
another sang there — a slender slip of a girl 
who later was to become the wife of his youth 
and Eleanor’s mother. 

The rosy-cheeked lad long ago had changed 
into a care-worn, grey-haired man — the most 
powerful of modern financiers; one of the great 
figures of the world. For decades he had not 
thought of that hymn-tune, but as he hurried 
toward his train to-day it swelled and surged 
through his heart. 

On sped the cab, skimming by trucks, graz- 
ing surface-cars, half circling careless pedes- 
trians — past Canal Street, Fourteenth, Twenty- 
third, Thirty-fourth; and down the last clear 
stretch toward the Grand Central Station, with 
five minutes to spare. 

Its glistening wheels whirred over the stones, 
the horse’s hoofs clicked rhythmically ; and 
seated within, Mortimer Cuyler hummed over 
and over again the opening words of that 
familiar song of thanksgiving: 

[322] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

u Pra-aise God — from whom — all 
Bless-ings flow! 

Pra-isc Him — all crea-tures 
Here— be-low! ” 

Deep lines graven by half a lifetime of strug- 
gle, anxiety, conflict, were gone from his face. 
It was illumined with joy and gratitude. 


[323] 


XXVI 


Having rounded Cape Cod and later Point 
Judith, the steam yacht Norseman } like some 
magnificent white seabird, swept majestically 
into the gently heaving waters of Long Island 
Sound. July and August had merged into Sep- 
tember during the weeks in which she had 
cruised far from her home port to unfamiliar 
waters of the North where those on board, 
Mortimer Cuyler, and his daughter, and Mrs. 
Hazard, had experienced complete change of 
scene and surroundings. The leisurely voyage, 
with many an excursion ashore, had done its 
work. Eleanor had regained health, strength, 
mental poise, and again was her usual self — 
active, happy, interested in all around her. The 
effects of her terrible experience had vanished, 
and even the memory thereof returned but at 
long intervals as a vague, disturbing dream 
which she could cast aside more and more easily. 

Earlier in the evening Cuyler’s yacht had 
slowed down so that a tugboat could bring out 

[324] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

to him from Fall River a packet of tele- 
grams and the Boston papers — for once 
more within the zone of active life the finan- 
cier must get a grip on affairs of the world. 
Eleanor and her aunt, sitting together on deck, 
watched the fussy little tug approach the 
Norseman , like some overgrown, black water- 
bug skimming the surface of the sea with a 
tremendous amount of earnestness. Nearer 
and nearer it came, when Eleanor, with a little 
gasp, suddenly rose from the chair. 

“What is it, my dear?” Mrs. Hazard 
asked, looking up in surprise. 

“There’s someone — someone on the tug, up 
by the wheel-house — that I can’t quite make 
out. . . 

Mrs. Hazard adjusted her glasses. 

“Well, I can!” she remarked with empha- 
sis. 

A bow-line and a stern-line flew over the rail, 
and were seized by white-clad sailors as the tug 
came alongside. The next moment a tall man 
with broad shoulders sprang from his perch 
and lightly swung down upon the yacht’s 
deck. 


[325] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ Good afternoon, Mrs. Hazard,” he said, 
as if such an appearance as his were quite the 
ordinary thing. 

“Doctor Barrett!” she exclaimed, meeting 
him with outstretched hand. 

“ And to you, also, Miss Cuyler,” he added, 
his eyes dancing with merriment. “ Please, 
may I go to New York with you? I want to, 
even if I have to work my passage — provided 
there’s room.” 

“Indeed you may!” Cuyler responded, 
appearing on deck as he heard the voices, and 
taking the younger man’s hand with cordial 
grip. “You’re more than welcome.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” Barrett replied with a 
trace of old-fashioned courtesy not displeasing 
to the other. “ The captain of the tug asked 
me to hand you this,” he concluded, holding 
out a leather pouch. 

“ Oh, yes, telegrams and newspapers. They 
can wait until after dinner. . . . But how 

about you ? Have you any luggage ? ” 

“Yes; it’s on the tug.” 

The captain of the little craft alongside was 
leaning through a window of his wheel-house, 
[326] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

smoking a pipe and examining the trim and 
polished Norseman with critical, disdainful air. 
To him Barrett turned and spoke: 

“ I’ll stay with the yacht — send my suit-case 
on board.” 

“ Ay, sir.” 

As the satchel was passed over the rail the 
tug drew off, and the Norseman moved for- 
ward — noiselessly, without effort, without a 
quiver. On she swept, mile after mile, while 
afternoon waned into evening, while the sun 
set in a glory of gold and rose-tints, while its 
more delicate after-glow melted into the on- 
coming darkness. And not until then was din- 
ner served — with a leisurely ceremony of which 
Cuyler privately thought his good sister was a 
trifle too punctilious. By the time they rose 
from table and came on deck again, the breeze, 
which had freshened a little, was impregnated 
with a bracing, salty flavour. The ladies drew 
wraps more closely around them, and all four 
started to pace up and down, up and down, until 
Cuyler tossed his cigar overboard. 

“ Now I’ll have to get at those telegrams, 
and leave this beautiful night,” he said reluc- 

[327] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

tantly, steadying himself to counteract the gen- 
tle swaying of the yacht. 

“ It’s too bad, daddy dear ! Can’t you let 
them go until morning?” 

“ No, I’m afraid not. . . . Well, I will 

see you again before we turn in.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” Mrs. Hazard remarked. 
“ I’ve got to the last chapter, and I really must 
see what happens to those two young people. 
Are you sure you’re warm enough, Eleanor ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, and if I feel chilly we can easily 
find shelter from the wind.” 

“ Well, don’t risk taking cold.” 

Mrs. Hazard followed her brother to the 
library below, and Barrett and the girl started 
once more to pace back and forth, saying little, 
listening to the swash of the water, until finally 
both paused on the after-deck. 

“ And how did you know we were to be here 
this evening?” asked Eleanor, seating herself. 

“Very easily,” Barrett replied, drawing 
another chair nearer for himself. “ I saw by 
an early edition of the Boston afternoon papers 
that the Norseman was due, and that arrange- 
ments had been made to send off a tug to her 
[ 328 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

with messages for your father. Some marine 
reporter probably heard it from one of the 
tug’s crew — and promptly rushed it into print, 
I’m glad to say.” 

“Are you?” asked Eleanor. 

Barrett sat up and looked at her. “ Well — 
yes. . . . Aren’t you?” he demanded. 

“ It’s good of you to take so much trouble. 
I’m sure my father and my aunt appreciate 
it.” 

“And you’re glad to see me, yourself — at 
least a little glad,” he went on; “glad enough 
to serve for the sake of politeness, anyhow — 
aren’t you? ” 

“ Guess,” she responded, banteringly, lean- 
ing back a little, and looking at him with half- 
closed eyes. 

In his turn Barrett leaned, but forward; and 
looked down at the girl with eyes that were 
distinctly not half-closed. 

“ I don’t have to guess,” he said, in tones 
that made her heart flutter again — more rap- 
idly than when she had first recognised him on 
the tug. 

Through her mind flashed a little note of 

[329] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

thankfulness that he could not see the pink 
foolishly sweeping from throat to forehead. 

“Don’t you ever have to guess?” she in- 
quired calmly. “ Are you always so sure about 
everything? ” 

Memory of that Sunday afternoon at Van 
Studdiford’s summer place came to Barrett’s 
mind, and of Mildred. And of others. 

“ No, I’m wo/,” he declared honestly. “ I’m 
not sure of everything, Miss Cuyler. But 
there’s one thing I am sure of, absolutely, un- 
questionably, and I’m going to tell you ” 

As he rose from his chair and stepped 
toward Eleanor she also rose from hers, a trifle 
precipitately, perhaps. 

“ I was just about to suggest that we go 
forward,” she interrupted. “ We can get a 
much better view there.” 

She started on, and he, after momentary 
hesitation, followed. 

Together they stood by the starboard rail 
watching the wonderful night. On either side 
the black waters of the Sound stretched out and 
out until lost in marriage with the great, deep 
sky. Off there they picked up a three-second 
[33o] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

light which flashed like some great fire-fly. 
Again they heard the warning note of a bell- 
buoy, faint at first, then louder, then fainter 
and fainter as they left it far astern. Once or 
twice they passed a giant Sound steamer in the 
distance, racing along with passengers and 
freight, each deck a band of brilliant lights. 
Then from out the dusky shadows near by 
would emerge the sail of some ghostly schooner 
which would vanish again as quietly as it had 
appeared. 

It was not a time or a place for speech. The 
majesty of the scene, the innumerable stars 
above, the soft, caressing touch of the moon 
illumining the black water, impressed them 
deeply. 

Far up in the top gallant forecastle two look- 
outs pierced the night with vision long trained 
to such service. Above, on the darkened bridge, 
stood the first-officer and the quarter-master; 
within easy call of them one or two seamen. 
Far down below in the engine-room were the 
chief and his assistants, listening, listening to 
the blended murmur of their perfect mechan- 
ism, alert to detect instantly the least discordant 
[33i] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

note, and ready to remedy it ere accident could 
happen. 

For a long time they paused there, Barrett 
and Eleanor, in silence. And when he could 
bear it no longer he spoke — very gently; as she 
had never heard him speak before — as he had 
never spoken before. 

“You will let me tell you?” he asked, and 
waited for a moment. 

She made no reply. 

“ I will not, if you forbid me, dear.” 

Then she caught her breath, and shrank a 
little — but not from fear. And he stepped to- 
ward her and would have taken her in his arms 
regardless of the others ; but just then Cuyler 
strode through his library, and came on deck. 

“ Doctor Barrett ! ” he called, glancing this 
way and that, before seeing them. 

“Yes, Mr. Cuyler, what is it?” 

He stepped over to his host. 

“Have you read this?” the banker de- 
manded, holding up an afternoon paper. 

“No — what is it, sir?” 

“ It’s an article in the last edition,” Cuyler 
replied, “ saying that you have organised an 
[ 332 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

archeological expedition at your own expense, 
to go down into the interior of Mexico, and 
excavate a lot of old temples in a buried city. 
It also says,” Cuyler continued, “ that you are 
to start within a month, and are to be away 
from home for at least three years.” 

“ Well,” said Barrett, “ there’s a good deal 
of truth in it. I have organised the expedi- 
tion.” 

Mrs. Hazard had followed her brother to 
the doorway. 

“ Now that is something worth while,” she 
remarked in her most impressive manner. u I 
only wish more of our young men with inde- 
pendent means would undertake such serious 
and important work.” 

It seemed to Eleanor that for an instant her 
heart stopped beating; but the blood of Morti- 
mer Cuyler flowed in her veins. 

“ Yes, indeed,” she added bravely. “ We all 
hope you will do great things down there ! ” 

“ Thank you,” Barrett said. 

“ Are you really going to bury yourself for 
two or three years in that forsaken country?” 
Cuyler asked incredulously. 

[ 333 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

“ That is my present plan, sir.” 

“Well, I wish you all sorts of success, but 
I’m sorry we’re not to see you for such a long 
time.” 

He went back to his reading-table, while 
Eleanor and Barrett resumed their chairs on 
the after-deck. 

“ So that was what you were going to tell 
me when my father interrupted? ” she said with 
a gay little laugh. 

“ Not exactly, that. ... I was going to 
tell you that I should go away . . . unless 
— unless you want me to stay.” 

He paused, not knowing how to speak fur- 
ther. He had never felt so helpless as before 
this young girl — who suddenly bowed her head 
and covered her face with her hands. 

In an instant he was by her side speaking 
rapidly, tempestuously — but with an earnest- 
ness that overwhelmed her. 

It was late when Mrs. Hazard finished the 
love-story she was reading, and hurriedly be- 
thought herself that it was time she and her 
niece were retiring. And when they had left 
[ 334 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

the library, Barrett planted himself firmly on 
his feet directly in front of his host. 

“ Mr. Cuyler,” he said, looking the older 
man squarely in the eyes, “ I wish to marry 
your daughter. May I?” 

Cuyler’s glasses slipped from his nose, and 
for a moment he made no response, but gazed 
back with mingled amazement and admira- 
tion. 

“ Doctor Barrett,” he finally said, deliber- 
ately, “ possibly there are a few men on earth 
who would have the audacity to ask me outright 
for my paintings, or my residence, or my busi- 
ness. ... I don’t know of any one besides 
yourself who possesses the — eh — self-confidence, 
to ask me without the slightest preliminary for 
my only child.” 

As he spoke Cuyler’s mouth set in the steel- 
like expression dreaded by those who knew him 
in the world of finance ; and his grey eyes fixed 
themselves upon the younger man with an in- 
tensity far from reassuring. 

Barrett stood looking steadily at him until 
he had finished speaking. Then repeated his 
question, quietly but insistently. 

[335 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

44 Mr. Cuyler, may your daughter and I 
marry? ” 

A ghost of a smile flickered around the finan- 
cier’s lips. He tried to frown more fiercely — > 
and failed. Then he stood up. 

“ First of all, does Eleanor wish to marry 
you?” 

44 She said so.” 

44 Well, I’m not accustomed to rendering im- 
portant decisions off-hand. But I’ll confess 
that since we started on this cruise, Mrs. 
Hazard has suggested the possibility of some- 
thing of this nature.” 

41 Mrs. Hazard!” 

Cuyler nodded. 44 You see, doctor, these 
women unconsciously breathe into their very 
being things allied to the spiritual which men 
can comprehend only after long, hard, logical 
study — if ever. And so I was not wholly un- 
prepared, although I never imagined it as being 
imminent.” 

44 I wish to say, sir, that I have a clean 
record, and I will help you to investigate 
it.” 

44 I’m sure of it! You look it. And no man 
[ 336 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

with another kind of record would do what you 
did to help recover my daughter.” 

Instinctively he put forth his hand, which 
Barrett took with hearty grasp for a moment. 

“ And do you give your consent to our 
engagement? ” 

“ I do not forbid it — at present. Final 
decision is reserved until I can talk the matter 
over with my daughter.” 

From her room beyond Eleanor came run- 
ning to her father. 

“ Oh, daddy, dear ! ” she exclaimed, laugh- 
ing and crying at the same time, “ you don’t 
have to wait and talk it over ! ” 

The grim old warrior looked down at her 
tenderly, and patted her cheek. Then he kissed 
her on the forehead, and gently inclined her to 
the tall, powerful man standing opposite. 

There was a moment’s silence, suddenly 
broken by Cuyler, who turned to a telephone 
and gave one ring, which was answered in- 
stantly. 

“ Captain Hasbrouck,” he said, speaking 
into the transmitter, “ a great event has hap- 
pened this evening; a great and happy event . 

[ 337 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

At sunrise you will dress the yacht with every 
flag and rag and bit of bunting on board. Serve 
the ship’s company with a regular Christmas 
dinner to-morrow, and grant extra shore leave 
to every man you can spare when we reach our 
anchorage.” 

“Very good, sir,” replied the master of the 
Norseman. 

“ That is all, Captain Hasbrouck.” 

Cuyler turned again to the man and the girl 
standing side by side. 

“ Now, young people,” he continued, beam- 
ing upon them with unaccustomed playfulness, 
“ I am going out in the fresh air for ten min- 
utes — for just ten minutes, mind you ! ” he 
laughed. “And then I shall reappear sud- 
denly — without warning — and we will all turn 
in for what is left of this eventful night.” 

He closed the door, and walked slowly to the 
darkened after-deck, where he leaned over the 
rail, thinking, thinking. Filmy clouds drifted 
across the moon; the water gurgled and hissed 
as the yacht cut through it; the stars shone in 
their silent, mystic majesty. 

Then he heard light footsteps coming 
[ 338 ] 


The Strange Case of Eleanor Cuyler 

toward him, and a lithe young creature drew 
his arms around her as she nestled up close to 
him. 

“What is it?” he asked gently. 

“ Oh, daddy, dear ! ” she whispered with 
awe in her tones; “it’s like the Creation. 
. . . This wonderful world is beginning all 

over again ! ” 

He drew her yet closer, and stroked her hair. 
And said nothing. 


THE END 




































* 




LB 0 23 


L B 0 23 










